


A Mother Always Knows

by Millennialpink22



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Abusive Myra Kaspbrak, Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And I am lazy, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Appendicitis, Asexual Character, Asexual Mike Hanlon, Barry HBO, Character Analysis, Character Death, Clown Induced Amnesia, College, College Student Richie Tozier, Coming Out, Compromised Mental State As A Result Of Clown Induced Trauma and Amnesia, Depression, Divorce, Driving, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drunk Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie is so proud of him, Eddie's Emmy Award Winning Husband, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Fix-It, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Georgie is dead still oops, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, Hate Crimes, High School, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, Idk Myra's maiden name but It's not Kaspbrak anymore, Implied Richie/Steve, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Like as slow as my comprehension in a math class, M/M, Maggie Tozier Loves Her Son, Maggie and Went try to be understanding, Marijuana, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Cancer, Miscarriage, Mother-Son Relationship, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Divorce, Post-IT (2017), Recreational Drug Use, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Richie Tozier Has Issues, Richie Tozier Is Smart, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is John Mulaney if the Final Switch Was Flipped, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier is on Saturday Night Live, Richie Tozier on Drugs but the legal kind for once, Richie Tozier's Career is Based on Bill Hader's, Richie Tozier's Comedy is Based on John Mulaney, Richie has Bill Hader's Career so He made Barry, SNL Castmember Richie Tozier, Saturday Night Live References, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Slurs, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Stanley Uris Lives, Substance Abuse, Teen Angst, Theater Kid Beverly Marsh, Theater Kid Richie Tozier, Tozier Family Through the Years, Track Star Eddie Kaspbrak, US Legalization of Same-Sex Marriage, Underage Drinking, Unrealistic Healing of Physical Injury, Unrequited Love, Weddings, Wentworth Tozier Loves His Son, and it shows, and they were ROOMMATES, and they were traumatized, because I am not a medical professional, because these gays are so far in the closet, but not really secret because these idiots are about as discrete as a neon green german shepard, oh my god they were roommates, oh my god they were traumatized, physical assault, snl, that they're in narnia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 358,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22240303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millennialpink22/pseuds/Millennialpink22
Summary: Maggie Tozier loves her son more than he will ever know and she knows him better than he could ever imagine. She can only hope to guide him through the trials of life, toward a future she can look at and know that she did a good job as a mother.—A look into the life of Richard Tozier, from infancy to adulthood as witnessed by Margaret Tozier.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Maggie Tozier & Richie Tozier, Maggie Tozier & Richie Tozier & Wentworth Tozier, Maggie Tozier/Wentworth Tozier, Steve Covall & Richie Tozier, Steve Covall/Original Male Character
Comments: 1585
Kudos: 584





	1. Part I: Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Figured, might as well keep trying to not suck at writing things and maybe actually write something that is NOT a one-shot. Chills. I started this at like 3 am lmao. Sorry for any errors!
> 
> Anyway, this is going to follow Maggie and Richie (with some Wentworth) as Richie grows up in Derry and how the two of them interact as mother and son! I have a lot of ideas as to what I wanna do with this; but will my motivation exist? Who knows. I'm wildly out of practice and am stuck writing like my 12 year old self, but AM TRYING!!!! I really just love Maggie and feel like she deserves to be portrayed as a good mama. Don't get me wrong, I love an angsty pic as much as the next twisted fan, but sometimes ya gotta let kids feel loved by their moms.
> 
> Also reading about child safety in the 70s is a fever dream. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the fluff I am about to throw at you...

Even after just a single week as a new mom, Maggie instantly knew what was wrong with her son.

**June 1975**

Getting pregnant four months before the wedding definitely was not on top of Maggie’s list of wishes; but she had taken it in stride. It was helpful that she had someone as carefree and understanding like Went by her side. She had been tasting wedding cake flavors with Went when suddenly, the lemon flavor that she initially believed would be their top-pick, touched the tip of her tongue and had her sprinting toward the restroom. 

After heaving for a solid five minutes, she managed to drag herself to the pedestal sink and looked at her grey face. She could not help but wince at how worn she looked after that little episode. _Never,_ had lemon made her feel so ill in her entire life. She pushed her trembling hands through her sweat-drenched curls and focused on controlling her breathing. As she looked down at the sink, she noticed a small basket with a few sanitary napkins-- and that’s when it dawned upon her.

She mentally started counting when her last cycle was when she heard a soft knock at the door.

“Hey, Mags?” Went’s soft voice filtered through the mental math she was currently attempting in her head. “Can I come in?”

“Uh, yeah.” She could not help but wince at the raspiness of her voice. “Just a second.” She had an uncomfortable feeling that was no longer associated with lemon cake as to why she had suddenly gotten so sick. But, it wasn’t a dark feeling like she often heard other women imply when they found out the same type of news when they were not “trying.” It felt somewhat light? Exciting. Like something she was meant to do and she could only hope Went would agree.

She unlocked the door and was met with a pair of soft brown eyes that held deep concern. 

“What happened? Are you okay? I brought you a cup of water.” He offered, holding a small cup toward her. “I would have gotten you a bigger cup but the--”

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“Well, I don’t have two cups.” Went responded instantly, his expression unchanging.

“I’m a month and a half late… and well that whole… scene.”

“Well, I guess you really have to stay with this dingus now, don’t you?” Went said, gesturing to himself as a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

“Well, I could just run off to my mother with him.”

“Him?”

“I don’t know, I kinda feel like it could be… if it even is.” She giggled. “I should probably get that checked out after I reassure the baker that it’s not his fault that I got sick.”

“I don’t know. That cake _was_ dry.”

xXx

**October 1975**

Maggie was indeed pregnant and had elected to keep it under wraps with Went and their parents, until covering her steadily growing belly would become impossible. It was also recommended not to announce their pregnancy, according to her doctor, due to the fact that the chances of miscarriage was significantly higher in the first couple of months.

That thought alone had Maggie’s heart sinking to the pit of her stomach. She was determined to keep this baby and knew that there was something in her that was meant to be a mother-- and not in the housewife way that the 50s had portrayed as the ideal. No, she felt as if she was meant to give someone the abundance of love she felt in her heart and to care for them and to shape them into a moderately respectable human being. That may be somewhat difficult with Went around to rub his sometimes crude humor on them. She wouldn’t mind though. As long as they were happy. 

The day of their wedding had come and gone faster than Maggie had imagined. She had been terrified at the prospect of her dress no longer fitting even after getting it let out-- twice. Maggie was a slender woman, all long and delicate limbs, so it was not surprising to anyone that she began showing rather early. She was stripped to her bra and underwear, her stomach holding a definite curve that was not normally there and she feared it would get in the way of the dress or take the spotlight during the ceremony. She really was excited about the pregnancy, but she wanted today to be about her and Went’s unconditional love for one another. It was not like they were going to have many days just for them once March came around. 

She stepped into the pearl-white gown, and with the help of her mother, slid her arms into the long sleeves and waited impatiently for her mother to make the final move with the zipper. 

“It’s beautiful, hon.” her mother whispered behind her back as her fingers began the zippered trail up her spine. There was a moment when the zipper seemed to fight going up all the way, but with one gentle tug, it met its destination right at the base of Maggie’s neck. “You truly look amazing.”

“Thank you so much.” She says, pressing a soft kiss to her mother’s cheek. 

She really did look stunning in the dress and she was not afraid to admit that. There was some snugness around her middle which only suggested that she did not follow the typical diet plan of most brides. Not that she would have, baby or not. 

Before she knew it, she was all done getting ready and was walking down the aisle to marry her best friend. She could not contain the tears that were burning her eyes and this was an occurrence she knew she could not blame on hormones or anything like that. She felt better about crying when she noticed that Went’s jaw was quivering slightly as he stood next to his younger brother, who was smiling softly at Went’s sudden show of emotion.

Once she found her spot right in front of Went, he smiled down at her and whispered, “You wanna ditch this and elope?”

She playfully poked him with her bouquet, earning a few giggles from some of the less stern family members. 

“What? You look too beautiful and you’re expecting _me_ to wait for an old guy to blab on for an hour before I get to kiss you?” He whispered again.

“Guess so.” Maggie smiles up at him, just as the priest steps forward and begins the ceremony.

Throughout the ceremony, Went makes an abundance of side comments that only she can hear and has wide and dramatic expressions at some of what was being said about marriage and the sanctity of it or whatever was being said. Maggie wasn’t really listening either. She knew she loved him and she knew he loved her and they just wanted to cut to the chase honestly.

Maggie caught one of her more astute great aunts eyeballing went with a look of intense disapproval when she noticed that Went was crossing his eyes; but she could truly care less. She loved him goofiness and all. 

_Finally,_ after what felt like ages, the priest informed Went that he could indeed, “Kiss the bride.”

He gently lifted the veil over her head and softly pressed his lips against hers. A loud echo of cheers resonated throughout the church, but it fell upon deaf ears to them for they were only entranced in each other at that moment. 

“I love you Mrs. Tozier.” Went whispered to her, as he pulled away.

“I love you, too Mr. Tozier.” She replied, turning to smile for their family and friends. 

xXx

**March 1976**

Only a month had passed after their wedding when they elected to announce the pregnancy to the rest of their family and their friends. They had been met with a lot of support from a majority of their families and only a little bit of snide commentary and the implication that they were doomed to hell for premarital intercourse, once it was revealed that Maggie had been pregnant prior to their wedding day. 

They disregarded the negativity and simply enjoyed the life they were steadily building together. They had found a nice two-story home in Derry, Maine, right outside of Bangor where Maggie and Went had attended college. Maggie had suggested the idea of Derry to Went because she had driven through the town multiple times as a child and deemed it a rather safe-looking area to raise a child. There were sidewalks where they could ride their bike, a school system that reportedly graduated more students than not, and a variety of little hangout spots that her son (she _knew_ it was a boy, she just did), would hopefully spend his time with a group of nice friends once he decided he was “too cool” to always hang with his parents.

The past several months had been dedicated to officially settling down and creating an environment that was prepared for the arrival of their child. Went successfully opened a dental practice that was already booming given that the previous Derry dentist had retired. That had been a huge weight off their shoulders given that Maggie was not working and had decided, with Went, that she may elect to stay at home with the child until he was of elementary school age. 

Went and her had successfully put together a nursery with some help from a plethora of gifts from family and friends. _That_ had been extremely helpful and she could only hope the space-themed room would meet the liking of (what she knew would be) her son. The house had been set up, in a way that met the criteria of the few parenting books she had been gifted and barely skimmed through, to ensure the baby’s safety. She was not sure what they needed to be safe from so early on in their life considering the baby could not even roll himself into some form of danger. But, perhaps that type of thinking was indicative as to what type of mother she would be… and that worried her greatly.

She had gone into this thinking she was destined to be a mother but she worried she was not going to be a good one. She had expressed such worries to Went and he always held her close and informed her that because she was worried about not being good enough, only ensured the fact that she was going to be “an amazing mother.” 

The words helped, sure. But, what if she did not develop that “motherly intuition” she had always heard so much about. After all, she was a fairly young mother and had been the youngest of three. She never really had any experience around babies. Maggie was truly distraught about the idea of not knowing what her baby needed when they could not truly vocalize their needs or when they grew up and may not want to tell her what was wrong. She wanted to be the type of mother that could take a glance at her child and know how to wipe away any sadness from their face and to make sure they could thrive in the environment she and Went were providing. 

This concern for being a good mother was shifted to an afterthought when she was folding laundry in the basement and felt a sudden sharp pain in her lower back that felt significantly different from the Braxton Hicks she had been experiencing all throughout the month of February. 

It was go time.

She immediately lay down the fluffy towel, and calmly brought herself back up the stairs, mentally timing the contraction in her head. She found Went still dozed off on the couch, a book resting on the coffee table before him. She had removed the book from his hands prior to going down to fold the laundry. She knew that had he been awake, he would not have let her carry out such a task as he had grown extremely protective of her since the new year chimed in. Not that she minded, but sometimes it felt nice to do something on her own, rather than watch Went haphazardly attempt to clean in between work and reading off baby names from one of their many books.

She eased her way over to him, poking his cheek gently with her index finger.

“Mmmm, hi?” He mumbled intelligently.

“I think it’s baby time.” Maggie informed him.

“Wha… Oh shit! Really?” He instantly shot up, veering away from Maggie as to not accidentally clobber her with his long, gangly limbs. “Did your water break? Are you okay? What hurts? I’ll get your hospital bag. Do you need me to carry yo--”

“I’m fine.” She laughs. “I just felt a really sharp pain and it felt… a lot different from what I was feeling before. Also, I’ve dropped a bit this week, so I think it’s safe to say that it’s time.” She decided it was best to not disclose the fact that she had walked down and up the stairs in order to attempt laundry. He would discover it when he came home and noticed that half of the load was already folded, but it was better not to stress him out more than he already was.

“Are you sure, you’re okay?” Went pressed, his eyes wide with concern.

“Yes. I’m gonna put some shoes on and I’ll meet you in the car?”

“Sounds great to me.” He said, slightly breathless, before darting off to grab everything.

Maggie simply giggled to herself, waddling over to the front door where her trusty slip-ons awaited her. She found them to be ideal this far into her now-ending pregnancy. Anything that had laces or buckles was simply too difficult for her to do on her own with her belly in the way and she didn’t like to make Went do every little thing for her. 

She managed to make her way to their car, and settled herself in the front seat. This was it. This would be her last time leaving this house as a pregnant wife. The next time she would return, she would be a new mom and holding a small baby in her arms.

xXx

Getting to hold the small baby in her arms, however, took a lot of work she discovered after nearly eighteen hours of labor. Her time in the hospital had been spent with Went, rubbing her sweat-drenched head as she curled up, crying as it felt like her insides were tearing apart and putting themselves back with each contraction growing in intensity. No amount of pain relievers seemed to completely eradicate the pain, but Maggie could only imagine the type of agony she would have endured without it. Went was extremely supportive throughout the entire process, helping her sip water with gentle words of encouragement and making silly commentary about random doctors and nurses in order to make her laugh. Internally, she decided that this would probably be their only child because the idea of feeling this pain again was out of the question.

The pain, however, became absolutely worth it after she had been told to push and bear down for nearly two hours straight and heard a loud cry cut through the room. Her eyes immediately caught glimpse of a dark head of hair and pink fists that were already swinging at the doctor holding… 

“It’s a boy!” A nurse informed her

him.

She had known it all along-- from the minute she calculated her missed cycle. She watched groggily as they began cleaning the squealing baby off, briefly looking up to Went who smiled tearfully down at her. 

“Here’s little baby Tozier” a nurse announced softly, gently placing the still squawking child in Maggie’s arms. He had been swaddled in a soft hospital blanket and his dark tufts of hair were now brushed down against his small head. “Now, just make sure his head is supported and keep your gown down slightly so he can rest his head on you.” 

“Hi there” Maggie whispered softly, peering down at his swollen and dusky-blue eyes. She hoped they would fade into the same blue that hers were because clearly he already had his father’s dark hair. 

Immediately, the small cries halted as her baby found himself captivated by his mother’s voice. He opened his mouth slightly, staring up at her with foggy eyes. Maggie knew babies could not see well at birth but she could just pretend that the baby knew he was looking at his mamma.

“You’re such a handsome little thing, huh?” He blinked slowly, and continued following her voice, jaw moving slightly as he recognized the voice. 

“He’s gorgeous, Mags.” Went whispered softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead, not caring that there was still a film of sweat around her hairline. 

“Going to have to name you tomorrow morning, huh?” The baby’s small mouth pursed, as if agreeing with her. “I think my favorite is still Richard Wentworth, personally.” She adds, looking away for just a second, up at Went, before immediately giving the little thing her attention once more.

“You really want him to be teased with _that_ middle name, huh?”

“Shhh. He deserves to have a part of his father with him at all times.”

“So are we agreeing to Richard Wentworth Tozier?” 

“Confirm it with me tomorrow, when I didn’t just have a baby.” 

Went laughs at that, “Sounds good to me.”

xXx

They are able to take Richard, or Richie as they have already taken to calling him, home two days after his birth. Maggie and Went liked the idea of being able to give the baby a nickname that they would use more frequently… except when he would get in trouble which was somewhat inevitable, as he was Went’s son, afterall.

They had not gotten to be with him as much as they would have liked at the hospital, given that staff were constantly in and out, taking him away from their arms to get the good ol’ snip, to be measured and checked for any defects (he had gotten the all clear), and just to be picked and prodded at by random nurses until he would eventually doze off and lay in an uninviting hospital-issued crib. 

It was because of this that Maggie was eternally grateful to be home. They had gotten everything into the house and fallen into a steady schedule in the week that followed their return. Maggie was currently sitting in the rocker by the small crib, feeding him some formula brand that was highly recommended by some of the hospital staff. She had initially planned on breastfeeding as her mother had, but with one attempt of feeding Richie, it was clear that she was not producing enough to meet the extreme appetite he already had. 

She felt like this was right and the feeling continued to grow as Went took his turn with the baby later that evening and changed diapers without complaint-- only a few small jokes regarding the contents within it. Family and friends called throughout the week and Went took the liberty of answering and accepting the congratulations, fully aware that Maggie did not want to tear herself away from little Richie for absolutely anything.

She still held the fear that she lacked the skills to be a good mom, despite constant assurances from Went, who seemed to fall into fatherhood with absolute ease. She wondered if there were anxieties hidden under his surface; he never expressed those types of feelings as much as she did. He was not by any means stoic; he just avoided displaying the type of feelings he knew may bring a degree of distress to Maggie. 

She worried that she lacked the basic skills needed to be a more than adequate mom. She knew it went beyond simply feeding and watching them; she needed to be intuitive and able to predict that Richie needed before he reached a level of significant distress.

She discovered that she indeed possessed mother’s intuition one night, when she woke up to the sounds of incessant screaming that sounded vastly differently from the small mewling cries Richie normally produced when he was hungry, wet, or simply wanted to be held. He rarely cried about the latter of those three; Went and Maggie could rarely find it in themselves to put him down for anything except a nap. 

She immediately shot out of bed, and noticed that Went’s side was cold. She immediately sprinted downstairs where she knew Went would be, heating up a bottle whilst holding a red-faced Richie.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. He’s been fussing with me since you went to bed.”

“Went, that was,” she glances at the clock, “almost four hours ago.”

“I know.” He looks defeated slightly. “I changed him, I bounced him, hell, I tried singing to him.”

“I think he’s in pain.” Maggie said, holding her arms out to Went, so he could focus on making the bottle.

He placed the crying child in her arms, his wails unexpectedly loud for such a small person. “Why do you say that? I don’t sing that bad and I didn’t hurt him.”

“Honey, I know you didn’t… and you kind of do” She says, holding him close, only to feel Richie’s feeble attempts to arch his body back while his tiny fists clenched tightly. “See, he’s twisting around. I think his stomach hurts.”

“I don’t get why? He pooped. He’s been burped. I fed him when you went to bed, and I just figured I’d give him a few extra ounces now to see if that would settle him.”

“I think he has colic.” Maggie decided, after she really looked at the twisted look in her baby’s red face. “His tummy feels kinda hard and he’s trying to arch his back because he’s feeling a lot of pressure.”

“Well, what can we do about that?”

“We might have to change his formula, but we’ll have to call the doctor about that in the morning. I think, for now, we just swaddle him and hold him that one way the nurse told us to do if he was gassy. That should help him until morning.” Maggie said, as she readjusted her hold on Richie. “Can you get a blanket so we can wrap him up?”

“Sure thing.” Went salutes, and is off to the nursery.

“I know, it’s just so hard, isn’t it?” Maggie assures, knowing at this point even her softest voice won’t be able to ease her baby. She knows her voice is meeting his ears and that hopefully, despite the pain, he is able to hold onto that and recognize her as a safe spot as he continues to grow.

“The blanket you ordered.” Went says, gently laying it on the carpet so they can work together to swaddle their squirming baby. “I threw it in the dryer for a few minutes. I figured the heat might help ease some of the pain.”

“That’s perfect,” Maggie says as she gently places Richie onto the warm material. “I’ll hold his arms close to his belly, you start wrapping.”

“Got it, chief.” Went says, wrapping Richie snugly. 

The cries, although still incessant and painful, have decreased greatly in volume much to their relief. 

The two of them trek back to the nursery, where Went sits patiently with the bottle, aware that the contents probably do not agree with his son but accepting the fact that he still has to eat. Maggie rocks Richie back and forth, her hand resting between his legs and allowing his back to rest against her still-soft belly. The position, the blanket, and the rocking alone seems to calm Richie a great deal. His pained cries eventually subside into soft mewling whines, and eventually into the occasional squeak.

Maggie deems it safe to start feeding him some of the bottle. Her and Went both agreed they would only give him two and a half ounces of formula since they would be calling the doctor in a few short hours to figure out what course of action they should take in addressing the colic. Sleepless nights were to be expected as parents; not that they minded too much. They would not be able to rest soundly anyway with the knowledge that their child was in any form of distress.

As Richie began to take to the bottle and was burped once in the feeding, his mouth became lax around the nipple and his blinks became more drawn out before his eyes finally fluttered shut. Maggie began to slow her rocking pattern, knowing an abrupt stop of movement or shift would wake him up from sleep that his distressed gut had deprived him from for far too long. 

“He looks so peaceful, now.” Went says softly, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, he really does.

“How did you know he had colic? I mean this is the first night this has happened.”

“I don’t know. I just heard him crying and I immediately knew he sounded off.”

“Well, yeah. No baby sounds okay when they cry.”

“No, I mean the cry sounded different.”

“It sounded the same, maybe louder, to me.”

“I don’t know. I just heard him and then I saw him and I guess I kind of knew.”

“And to think, you didn’t think you were going to be good at his.” Went laughs, a look of admiration cast upon his unshaven face. That was the other thing about parenting, they learned. Personal looks and hygiene fall on the back burner. They were lucky if the other brushed their teeth and thought to apply deodorant. 

“Time will only tell if I continue to understand him.”

“A mother always knows, hon.” Went says around a yawn. “I think you and I are gonna do just fine.” 

“Yeah, I think so, too.” Maggie replies, staring lovingly at her husband whose eyes are shut as he leans against the crib by the rocker and at her sleeping child that snuffles softly in his sleep.

She feels like she can do this. After all, she’s only been a mother for a little over a week, and she already feels like she _knows_ Richie better than she knows anyone else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is actually based, almost word for word, off my friend's experience with Hot Tamales when she was little. I vividly remember her mother telling me this story and it makes me laugh to this day. I was thinking about it when I made an outline for this pic and KNEW it was absolutely something Richie would do. 
> 
> Anyway, existing is extremely difficult? I'm like wildly stressed and tired all the time? Also, I am so paranoid of not making this how I want it to be and just coming off as an unskilled idiot. I put forth my best effort that I can given how stressed I am and I don't know if it's adequate but hey I AM DOING THE TRY. Yikes. Anyway, hope ya enjoy this!!!!

Maggie knew precisely what Richie did with the Hot Tamale candies she had purchased for him at the supermarket.

**April 1979**

Richie was a total mama’s boy. That was an undeniable fact. Even Went, who was hoping to have his “little champ” by his side at all times, could easily tell that Richie would much rather sit on top of the counter, chanting that “tables are for glasses not asses” (that had been an interesting thing to explain to Maggie’s mother), and help Maggie bake whatever pastry the little troublemaker had pointed at in one of her cookbooks, as opposed to rolling around in the dirt outside. He did that _sometimes_. Richie had random bursts where all he wanted to do was find flowers for his mama and could only find them after “ ‘splorin’ the forest,” which really meant crawling through the mud and rolling under bushes. But when it came to actual “manly” roughhousing, Richie was like a World Cup soccer player in that he would throw himself on the ground and scream the minute someone bumped into him. 

The two didn’t mind this fact. Richie was… definitely a unique kid. He did not seem to have an off button and came up with the silliest ideas and explanations as to why he was doing something that would have most parents seething. He enjoyed jumping on the bed, running around the house in his Mother’s shoes and Father’s button-downs, coloring outside the lines… and all over his chubby face, and dumping entire bottles of bubble bath into the tub to ensure that there was more than enough bubbles to hide his head in as he splashed at his mom and dad.

Maggie and Went simply saw all of his antics as an excuse to pull out the camera and hoard photos that they could later use to tease him with once he graduated high school or settled down with some nice gal. Sure, allowing Richie to explore with minimal limitations had resulted in some broken decorations, clogged drains, and a fair share of scraped knees and bloody elbows; but Richie was happy and that made Maggie and Went content (and proud) with the way they were raising him. 

Some parents might deem such Richie’s behaviors as “appalling,” “obnoxious,” or “enabling him to become a spoiled brat.” Sonia Kaspbrak, a mother of a toddler slightly younger than Richie, had said that right in Maggie’s face when she had given into Richie’s wishes at the grocery store when he sweet talked his way into getting not one box of Hot Tamales, but two. 

“So we can share!” Richie had exclaimed, pointing at the box from his spot in the cart.

“Can’t we share _one_ box, baby?” Maggie questions, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth as she leans against the cart, already knowing that she is going to definitely buy a second box.

Richie’s brows draw together, a look of uncertainty ghosting upon his soft features. He puffs his chubby cheeks out and puckers his lips slightly before easing the look of consternation into one of innocence and pleading; his soft blue eyes that he had gotten from her peek through his long lashes and his mouth purses together delicately. “Yeah, but we gotta have two ‘cause there _two_ of us!” He even holds up two fingers in her face as to demonstrate his knowledge of the number. 

“Gosh Richie, you might be right!” She laughs, ruffling his chronically messy hair. She has made several attempts to tame the thick mop on his head, but no amount of combing or child-friendly product can settle the unruly locks upon his head. 

“You know you’re going to ruin that kid.” a voice sniffs behind her that she immediately recognizes as Sonia Kaspbrak, a toad-like woman that appeared to have a permanent scowl on her face for anyone that was not her son, Edward or Edmond or something. Maggie only knew of Sonia because she and her husband, who was reportedly dying of cancer, were current clients at Went’s dental practice. She did not know much of Sonia besides that she was extremely strict and had “an extreme hate for anything more enjoyable than getting a root canal.” Went’s words. Not hers. It did not matter really. Maggie highly doubted she would _ever_ have any association with the Kaspbrak family in any shape or form given the different circles they ran in… or in Sonia’s case, walked cautiously in, with her son packed in layers upon layers of bubble wrap and stuffed into a padded hamster ball that was designed to not exceed a speed beyond 2mph. 

“Excuse me?” Maggie replies patiently, not allowing Sonia to get a rise out of her. Maggie knew it was healthy to express different emotions in front of her son, but anger was not one she wanted him to be too familiar with. 

“You’re enabling him to become a spoiled brat.” Sonia spits, giving daggers to the three-year-old that is oblivious to the situation for he is still staring intently at the Hot Tamales and kicking his feet back and forth. “No child should be eating such garbage at a young age. _No_ child should _ever_ eat that junk!”

“Sonia, I don’t really need you telling me what to do with my son. If he was really causing trouble, I would address it.” Maggie attempts to smile at the bitter woman. “He likes his sweets every now and then and I see nothing wrong with that.”

“But _that_ candy? That cinnamon flavoring can do no good for anyone!”

“It’s an acquired taste.” Maggie offers with a shrug. 

“For Pete’s sake Margaret, your husband is a _dentist_ and you’re going to rot the teeth out of his skull!”

“Mama flosses me.” A small voice interrupts. 

Maggie and Sonia both turn to look at the boy in the cart that is now invested in the conversation between the two mothers. He opens his mouth wide and points to show off healthy pink gums and pearly white baby teeth. After a brief presentation of what is clearly not a mouth of rotting teeth, Richie makes full eye contact with Sonia and says, “You say sorry now.”

Sonia’s eyes nearly pop out of her head as the three-year-old attempts to guide her into what is probably better behavior than she is currently demonstrating.

“Are you kidding me, Margaret? Your son is already interrupting adults and talking back? You really need to get a hold of him before he turns out to be a no-good delinquent.”

“Sonia. He’s _three_.” Maggie deadpans.

“You yelled at mama. Ya gotta say sorry for it.” Richie insists, eyebrows drawing together. “Not polite.”

“You really have to straighten that kid out.” Sonia snaps before turning away toward the produce aisles. 

Richie whips his head back to Maggie, a look of genuine confusion on his face. “She didn’t say it? Time-out?”

“Yeah, honey. She’s going to time-out.” Maggie says with a smile, grabbing two boxes of Hot Tamales and dropping them into the cart. 

Richie, regardless of his hyperactive nature and no matter how much Maggie and Went may choose to indulge his wants and desires, is by no means “spoiled.” Sure, Maggie and Went to give into him fairly often, but that has not shaped him into an entitled brat that throws tantrums if his demands are not met. He has always had the kindest heart, from the moment that he could express emotions beyond squawking his frustrations in his playpen. 

Maggie remembers the day one of her best friends from high school had died in a car accident. She had been holding a freshly-turned-two Richie as she took the phone call and was forced to sit him down on a blanket on the floor as she collapsed on the couch, her body trembling and sobs tearing their way up her throat. She had buried her face into her shaking hands when she felt a light hand touch her knee. She peered through her fingers and saw kind blue eyes and a look of concern. 

“Mama sad?” Richie had babbled. 

“Yeah, honey.”

“Up.” Richie held his arms up to her, bouncing slightly on unsteady feet.

She picked him up and sat him on her lap, attempting to pull herself together and not be so distraught in front of her baby boy. 

Richie instantly wiggled his away onto her chest, spreading his arms as wide as he could as to hug her around the neck. “ ‘ove you.”

Sure, Richie could not have offered any advice or words that could ease her pain. But, at just two years of age, he was capable of recognizing the sadness in his mother and provided comfort in the most genuine way a toddler could. This instinct to love and comfort had simply grown with him and he always hugged Went’s legs whenever he looked tired after a long day at work and always insisted on being held by Maggie so he could lay across her chest whenever she appeared even the slightest bit upset. And now, he was demonstrating a protective nature that almost made Maggie want to have another baby so she could really see the protective older brother instinct he would surely have… but then she remembered the excruciating pain she had endured with Richie and dismissed the thought entirely. 

Richie may be able to sweet talk his way into staying up an extra thirty minutes or into getting a second box if cinnamon candies, but that does not make him spoiled. Sure, Richie loved attention, but that also did not make him a brat. It wasn’t that he was desperate for attention, but more so due to the fact that he was showered with so much and was now truly addicted to it. Maggie really did not see a problem with it. He wasn’t rotten nor was he bratty (except maybe when he needed a nap or didn’t feel well). He cared about others and went out of his way to make those around him smile and laugh. He understood and accepted the occasional “no” thrown his way and did not ever throw a fit about it. He would never hurt anyone and only ever showed love to those around him and Maggie could only hope that he would hold onto such qualities as he grew up. 

“Is two okay?” Richie asks later as Maggie pulls the cart toward the check-out after weaving her way through the market, skillfully avoiding another run-in with Sonia. There is a slight uncertainty that is bleeding into his voice, his eyes sad as if he has done something wrong. Maggie feels her heart lurch slightly, wanting nothing more to kick that woman in the shins for inducing this sudden self-doubt into her son. 

“Of course, baby.” She answers, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead. “We are going to share both boxes and this way we don’t have to go back to the store when we run all out!” 

“Ok!” And just like that, Richie’s doubt is immediately wiped away by his mother’s reassurance. 

Maggie smiles warmly at her son and proceeds to unload the groceries in the check-out. Whilst doing so, Richie babbles mindlessly to her about everything and anything that comes into his constantly buzzing mind. Without any trouble, she is able to pay for the groceries, load everything back in the car, and get Richie safely secured in the back before finally being able to make their way back home.

In the twenty minutes that it takes her to get home, the babbling slows and eventually ceases about halfway through and she glances back to see Richie dozing in his carseat. It is about an hour before his usual naptime, but she supposes after witnessing his mother get bullied by a sourpuss, he is probably a little tuckered out. 

Once she pulls back into their driveway, she quietly removes herself from the car and undoes him slowly and carefully enough as to not wake him. That is a skill she miraculously developed upon having Richie. Went still sometimes woke Richie up when pulling him out of the car after a long ride and had on more than one occasion, knocked his head against the top of the car which inevitably lead to Richie wailing at the top of his lungs. 

She is quick, yet gentle in getting Richie settled on the couch with his favorite blanket and stuffed bear. She then turns the TV on as to create some white noise for him and returns to the car as to get her refrigerated items and ice cream that Richie had conspicuously hinted at, inside as fast as she can. Once the car is empty, and the kitchen is stocked for the week ahead, she allows herself to sit on the opposite end of the couch where Richie lay with his arms stretched over his head and sweatshirt riding up on his stomach. She lays a hand on his socked foot and allows herself to comfortable doze as The Price is Right softly buzzes through the silence in the home.

xXx

Hours later, she is woken by a larger hand stroking her hair back. She blinks a few times before seeing the soft smile of her husband above her. 

“Hi, there.” He says, pressing a soft peck to her cheek. “He tire you out?” He says, nodding to Richie who is now awake and watching TV with his middle fingers stuffed in his mouth (a habit that is concerning to Went), eyes slightly squinted, not really caring that the volume is barely audible. 

“Not at all. He’s been a doll all day.” She says, shaking Richie’s foot slightly to pull him out of his TV-induced daze. “You could have woke me up, baby.”

“No. It was nap time.” Richie states, sitting up, putting a hand on his tummy. “I want Hot Tamales now, please.”

“How do you both like those things?” Went laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Yummy.” Richie insists, sticking his tongue out at his father, knowing what is to come.

Went immediately throws Richie’s legs over his shoulder and allows him to dangle upside-down. Richie screams with laughter, putting his hands over his eyes. 

“You put that tongue away, young man.” Went insists in a British accent

“No sir!” Richie squeals back at his dad in his own butchered version of a British accent which in actuality, is simply Richie talking in a slightly raspier voice.

Maggie shakes her head, laughing to herself as the sound of Richie getting tickled to death fills the air while she goes into the kitchen to fetch one of the boxes for her and her son to enjoy. She opens one of the boxes and pours half of it into a small bowl and places the rest back onto the highest shelf in the pantry. Went, unfortunately lacking motherly instincts and being a full-blown dad had made the mistake of leaving Hot Tamales at Richie height once. Despite being sick and achy for an entire night, Richie had not lost the taste for the candies (He would in his late 20s when he would take one too many shots of fireball). 

She popped one into her mouth, enjoying the slight tingle across her taste buds. It still mesmerized her that a toddler liked them as much as she did. Sure, the first time he had snuck one from her, he had made a confused face before reaching for another one. She had panicked instantly, thinking he was going to choke on it, but was proven wrong given that he seemed to enjoy pressing his front teeth into the middle of the candy and tear it apart before popping it into his mouth. After that, Hot Tamales had become their special treat they would snack on together anytime they sat in the living room together, either watching TV or coloring on the floor. 

She returned into the living room to see Richie gasping between laughs as Went relentlessly tickled at his feet. 

“Mama! Save me!” Richie squeals, only to have Went drag him back into his lap. He turns his head back to his dad and sticks his tongue back out. 

“Oh, I don’t know, baby. I don’t think I can unless you give your daddy a big hug.”

“But he smells like teeth.” Richie says, scrunching his nose up.

Went cannot hold back a slight chuckle, shaking his head at his son. “Aw, but I hug you even when you smell bad.”

“I don’t smell.” Richie pouts.

“I dunno. Your feet smell pretty gnarly, kiddo.”

“Uh uh. My socks came outta wash!” He emphasizes his point by sticking his foot right in his dad’s face. “Not stinky.”

“Whew. That _is_ stinky!”

“No!” Richie says, throwing himself in his dad’s lap. “You are.”

“Can I still get a hug, though?” Went laughs, pulling his son’s deadweight back into a sitting position.

“Then candy.” Richie states, quickly giving his dad a hug before turning his attention to the small bowl Maggie holds in her lap. 

She hands him one, allowing him to tear it apart the way he likes to. 

“I’m gonna start dinner if you guys aren’t too set on spoiling your appetite.” Went says, as he moves to stand up releasing a small grunt-- or what Maggie likes to call, “dad noises.” Her and Went are still in their mid 20s, but they both felt like they were 50 sometimes. Apparently, that came with the territory of having a toddler. 

“We’ll be fine. Only a little bit, huh Richie?” 

“Yes. Only a lil’.” He confirms with a nod, reaching into the bowl for his second one. 

Went makes his way into the kitchen, getting out the pasta and sauce she had bought that day to make spaghetti. She had intended on starting it before he came home, but her body decided napping with her baby boy was more important. Plus, her and Went did not hold the belief that dinner needed to be done right when “the man” came home from work; nor should it exclusively be the wife’s job. Went understood how tiresome it could be to watch a toddler all alone all day; he had to do it for two days when Maggie had gone to the funeral of the aforementioned friend. After comforting his wife upon her return for a solid thirty minutes, he had collapsed into their loveseat adjacent from the couch for six hours. It wasn’t the homemaker model that appealed to some, but they quite frankly did not give a single shit. 

She and Richie snuggled close together, sharing their cinnamon candies, watching yet an old episode of The Brady Bunch, until the phone rang. She did not express any interest in it until Went peered his head in.

“Hey, Mrs. Handley just called,” a sweet elderly lady that always pinched Richie’s cheeks and gave him fresh cookies, “and she wanted to tell you about some new neighbors moving in on the next street over. Apparently they have a son close to Richie’s age.”

“Oooh, okay.” She says, her interest piqued at the idea of Richie hopefully making a friend before they entered him into a school setting. She set the nearly empty bowl down on the coffee table, not worried that Richie would have a repeat episode of getting sick from them given that there were only four left. “Mama will be right back, baby.”

“Kay!” He said distantly, suddenly interested in twitching his nose back and forth. 

Maggie ended up staying on the phone with Mrs. Handley for a solid thirty minutes, discussing the new family. Apparently, the husband was a Rabbi and their son, a few months younger than her Richie, was extremely sweet but had a little bit of “sass and ‘tude” according to Mrs. Handley. That _immediately_ had Maggie interested. She knew Richie needed a friend that could handle his loud personality and she was certain this Stanley boy would be the perfect fit for him. She was successful in getting their names, number, and address from Mrs. Handley.

Perhaps she was a little too excited, but she immediately squealed upon hanging up, looking over at Went who was nearly done getting the spaghetti plated and ready for them to enjoy. “This will be great! They sound like a really good bunch of people!”

“I agree.” He nods enthusiastically. “We can finally be real parents and have adult friends that we do adult things with.”

Maggie playfully punches his arm as he begins cutting up noodles on Richie’s dish. “Oh hush. It’ll be nice for us and it’ll be good to get little Richie socialized before he’s dumped into kindergarten.”

“Yeah, we can’t drop him into the lion pit without giving him social skills outside of old ladies that like to squeeze his cheeks and the two of us letting him be an adorable dork all the time.”

Maggie laughs at that, picking up Richie’s plate and setting it in the seat next to hers which had a booster seat safely secured to it, “He’s a dork because he’s _your_ son.”

Before Went could retaliate with a half-hearted comeback, she headed back into the living room, noticing there were only two candies left which she quickly took for herself. Richie was huddled back on the couch, aggressively rubbing at his cheeks, his eyes slightly red.

“Richie, honey, are you okay?” 

He quickly shook his head, sneezing slightly which was followed by a pitiful whine. “Don’ feel good.” 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, pulling him into her lap. “What hurts?”

Richie grabs at his entire face, squeezing his eyes shut, his tongue curling awkwardly in his mouth as he makes a slight gagging sound. 

“Is your belly upset?”

He quickly shakes his head as the gag turns into a weak choking sound. 

“Honey, you have to tell me what hurts.”

“ ‘m face.” He hisses out, eyes still clenched shut, nose scrunched and twitching.

She places her hands on her forehead, feeling nothing. She looked carefully at him, confused slightly at the coughing and gagging, the half sneezes, and the watering of his eyes. She briefly thought it could be an allergic reaction but that didn’t seem likely given that their house was clean, free of pets, and he had not eaten anything out of the ordinary. 

He begins pawing at his face and scratching around his nose. She glances at the now empty bowl that previously held the Hot Tamales. There had only been four left. Richie left two behind. That made absolutely no sense to her. Richie would never hesitate to eat unattended Hot Tamales if given the chance. She looks intently at his face, scanning his irritated reaction to whatever has him so unsettled.

As he scrunched his face up again, she immediately knows what is wrong. She kind of wants to laugh when she realizes what’s going on, but she knows that this could be potentially serious. 

“Richie, baby, I need you to be honest with mama.” She says calmly and somehow holding a straight face. She’s a mom, she’s gonna want to laugh even at her own baby boy’s expense when he has potentially done one of the most ridiculous things in her three years as a mother. Sue her. “Did you stick Hot Tamales up your nose?” 

He immediately nods his head, a small cry slipping out of his mouth. Her heart lurches slightly at his pain but she still laughs slightly, pulling him into a hug. “Oh baby, it’s okay. We can get it out.”

“I tried!” He coughs out. “Stuck.” 

“Let mama see.” He bends his head back, his nostrils already red and irritated from the hot cinnamon candy that most certainly does not belong up anyone’s nose. She can’t really get a good look without a flashlight. “Went, can you come here? Bring a flashlight.”

He walks in seconds later, clearly confused as to why Maggie has yet to bring Richie in for dinner. He quickly takes note of Richie’s whining and shifts into DadMode, “What’s wrong, buddy? Does he have a sore throat or something?”

“No. Tell Daddy what’s wrong baby.” She says, biting her lip a little. Went cocks his head, slightly confused as to why Maggie is finding this so humorous. 

Richie half-sneezes again, “I-I put tamales in my nose.” He grabs at his face again. “Stuck.”

Went cannot hold back a snort, which gets a half-assed glare from Maggie, who is on the verge of breaking into hysterical laughter. “Oh… oh no, bud. We’ll get those right out. How many did you put up there?”

Richie holds up two fingers, whining loudly. “Out!” 

Maggie pulls Richie into her lap and has him lay flat across her legs and arches his neck slightly. “Okay, Daddy is going to look and see if we can find them.”

Went kneels down, shining the light and sees the bottom of two red candies lodged rather deeply in the toddler’s nostrils. “I see them… they’re a little deep but I think we can get them out here.”

“I tried!” Richie cries, immediately sitting up. 

“I know bud, but now Mommy and Daddy are here to help you.” Went pushes Richie’s hair back in order to settle his son. 

“Okay, I’ll go grab tissues and tweezers, just in case it gets a little more difficult.” Went says, about to head toward the bathroom.

“Wait!” Maggie half-whispers. She pulls him slightly closer. “Do you think he will need to go to the hospital?”

“Not at all. He’s only three. He can’t get them out because he doesn’t know how to blow his nose, really. We can help him figure that out and they’ll easily dislodge. Worse comes to worst, I have to use tweezers on him.”

“So, he’ll be okay?”

“Guaranteed.” 

“Okay. Get the camera.”

“You’re rotten, Mags!”

“Oh hush. This is going to be hilarious to him one day.”

Went simply shakes his head laughing and then heads off to retrieve the necessary supplies. 

Went returns with their camera, tissues, and tweezers. Richie is currently curled up against Maggie sniffing loudly and grabbing at his face with his hands. 

“Okay, buddy. We have to get your picture just so I know exactly the way I should be looking up in there.”

Maggie hides her mouth behind her hand to cover her laugh at her husband’s pisspoor attempt to lie to their son. Richie, obviously buys it given that he’s three and is freaked out by the idea of his nose having those stupid candies stuffed up his nose all because he wanted to make his Mommy and Daddy laugh. 

Richie sits up, a twisted frown on his face and eyes squinted in irritation. “ Can’t smile. Itchy.”

“That’s okay, bud. You look fine.” Honestly, Went prefers the twisted and somewhat hilarious grimace Richie has on his face right now anyway. He snaps the picture and once it slips out of the slot, he lays it face down on the table so it can develop. After that, he decides it’s probably time to get the candy out of his son’s nostrils. 

“Okay, sit up against Mommy. Don’t lay down just yet.” Richie complies, scrunching his eyes up again as another cough-gag slips out of his throat. “Okay, I need you to breathe super hard out of your nose.” 

Richie does, but only enough for a small amount of air to come out. 

“Okay, we need to do that a lot harder, Rich.” Went grabs a tissue for himself and hands one to Richie. “Watch me.” Went quickly demonstrates how to adequately blow his nose and waits for Richie to follow suit. Richie gives a few attempts before giving one successful blow, when one falls out one side and onto his lap. 

“ I did it!” Richie says, briefly forgetting about the irritation that remains in his right nostril.

“Okay, let me look up the other one. That one might be a bit more stuck. Lay flat.” Richie follows without complaint, waiting for his dad to finish scoping out his nose. “Okay, yeah, it’s definitely shifted but it is a little stuck.” He glances up at Maggie who gently pets Richie’s head. “This isn't going to feel too good, buddy.”

“It doesn’t hurt no more. I’m okay.” Richie says, despite the fact that he is back to rubbing at his face.

Went sighs, looking up at Maggie. “We have to get it out or we’ll have to take you to a doctor and I know you don’t like going there.”

“No!” Richie insists, burying his face into his mother’s lap.

“Baby, you have to let Dada get it out. It’s gonna feel a little weird and then it’ll all be over.”

Richie slowly turns his head back to his father, his lip wobbling a bit. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

“It won’t hurt. It’s just going to feel really weird. But, it could hurt if you move while I’m doing it. I know it won’t feel the best, but you have to hold still, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Richie quickly nods his head. “Okay, now I want you to put your head like this against Mommy.” Went demonstrates a slightly arched position and waits for Richie to mirror his position.

“Okay, just close your eyes and it’ll be over before you know it.” Went hands Maggie the flashlight so he is able to clearly see what he is grabbing for and uses the flat-edged tweezers to go up his son’s nose, which elicits a small squeak of irritation from the boy, and easily pulls the candy out. “And there we go!”

“All gone?!” Richie says, opening his eyes and sitting straight up to see the candy that Went has placed in a tissue with the other one. Although he is a dad and used to touching a lot of things coated in bodily fluids, he really did not feel like handling a candy he doesn’t even like that is also covered in his son’s snot. 

“All gone, baby!” Maggie says, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Now, we’re not going to do that again, right?” Went asks, pulling himself back up.

“Never ever!” Richie announces, his nose still a little twitchy-- probably still a little cinnamon-y after having been filled with candy for… longer than any nostril should be filled with candy.

“Alrighty, now let's get you all washed up and we can eat some spaghetti!” Went says, immediately scooping Richie up and heading to the bathroom so they can flush his eyes and nose out with warm water to ease the remaining irritation. 

Maggie chuckles softly to herself, shaking her head at her son. She picks up the polaroid which has developed into a rather nicely lit picture of Richie with an absolutely hysterical expression on his little face. She snorts a bit, grabbing a black marker and writing on the bottom border of the picture: **April ‘79: Hot Tamales + Noses = :(**

Her Richie was certainly a handful. There was definitely _never_ a boring moment when it came to him. He never failed to make her laugh with his antics nor did he never fail to make her smile when his inherent love and generosity spilled out in the form of hugs, sweet words, and snuggles. He was truly unpredictable and although it was hard to say what he would get up to next, she knew that if anyone would be able to foresee his next move, it was definitely her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya like my corny ass bullshit... but we are literally writing about a mother and a son. It's gonna be cheesy and fluffy... for a bit. Then we will get some angst because I am a sadistic fuck. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Use of F-Slur from shitty suburban white mom!!!!!  
> Maggie is the only white suburban white mom we stan in this house.  
> Idk kids. I made an effort here but I'm not like satisfied with this one. Like this isn't good fuckin food. This is day old left overs from McDonalds. I apologize. My brain is mush but also told me to write things and I'm sorry to subject you to my bullshit.

After just one playdate, Maggie knew that Richie had found a Forever Friend in Stan.

**June 1979**

Richie was not a well socialized kid and that was perhaps the one shortcoming Maggie could clearly detect in her and Went’s parenting. It was not like they were actively trying to deprive their son of social experiences, as a certain unnamed mother that enjoyed snapping at three year olds in the grocery store did, but their attempts had been unsuccessful and often thwarted by Richie’s own insecurities and stubborn nature. 

Maggie had attempted socializing Richie when he was almost three in the first way most parents did-- having him interact with his cousins. That had been an absolute disaster and had put a slight damper on Maggie’s relationship with her sister. Maggie’s older sister, Linda, had three children-- twin boys and a daughter. The twins, David and Daniel were two years older than Richie and Linda’s daughter, Jennifer, had three and a half years on him. It was clear the minute that the adults decided to leave the three of them to interact in the living room whilst they prepared lunch, that they had taken advantage of their status as the older cousins and flourished upon their ability to tease their cousin to the point of tears. 

The twins were physical with Richie and took turns twisting his arms and knocking him off balance and onto the floor. Richie would attempt to retaliate but twin boys against one two-year-old never worked well in anyone’s favor. He was constantly having his thick hair pulled and toys taken right from his grasp. Jennifer, on the other hand, was convinced that she as a six year old was far too mature to engage in such juvenile physical behaviors and took to verbally abusing Richie, allowing her brothers to frequently chime in with their own petty insults. She called him ugly, stupid, and poopyhead. All insults crushed Richie on the inside and combined with the physical abuse he had been forced to endure during this “playdate,” had resulted in him succumbing to a full fledged temper tantrum that had him screaming and crying on the floor. 

Immediately, Maggie had ran into the living room where she saw the twins holding Richie down and Jennifer stage whispering to him to, “Shut up and stop crying before our moms come in here, you idiot!”

“What is going on in here!” Maggie had snapped, forcing the twins off of Richie, and pulling him into her lap.

“We were just playing with him and he got cranky.” Jennifer says, “I think he needs to nap.”

“No!” Richie yells between his sobs, looking up at Maggie, the expression on his face telling her all she needed to know.

“I don’t think that’s what happened, Jenna.” Maggie says slowly. “I think you and your brothers made Richie upset and don’t want to get in trouble for it.”

“Now, what is going on here?” Linda asks, baffled. “Maggie, the peppers aren’t going to cut themselves.”

“The boys and Jenna made Richie cry.” 

“Okay, so what? They probably were just roughing him around a bit. All little kids do that, Mags.” Linda says with a laugh.

“He’s crying, Linda.” Maggie snaps despite herself, pulling herself up to full height, holding her son close to her chest. “Whatever they were doing was clearly not appropriate.”

“Mags, you’re a first-time mom. I get it. You want to protect him from every scraped knee and make him think he’s this perfect child with no flaws.” She laughs, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest, “You have to let that go, or he’s never going to have any friends if he cries the minute someone teases him a little.”

“Clearly, they were doing more than just everyday teasing.” Maggie bites back. “Richie, tell mama what happened.”

“Hitted and pushed me.” Richie says between gasping sobs, pointing at the twins and then thrusts his hand toward Jennifer, “ ‘enna called me mean stuff.” He finishes and buries his face deeply into Maggie shoulder. 

“That’s normal, Mags.” Linda scoffs condescendingly. 

“No, it’s not. Maybe you’re okay with your kids being bullies, but Richie isn’t like that. He doesn’t go out of his way to be mean to people.”

“That’s because you don’t let him have any friends.”

“Are you really justifying your kids being mean to a _two-year-old_ ?” Maggie stares at her sister in shock, “There is nothing okay with your kids pushing him around and calling him names to the point where he’s like _this._ ” 

“Maggie, you’re being absolutely ridiculous. You need to accept the fact that kids like to mess around with each other.”

“ _This_ isn’t messing around. This is your kids taking advantage of the fact that they have someone younger than them that can’t fight back.”

“God, Maggie.” Linda says with an eye roll. “ _This_ is exactly why I couldn’t stand you as kids. You could never take a joke and you’re setting _him_ up so he can’t either. You’re too soft and you’re going to raise _him_ to be too soft.” She glances back at Richie, who is still crying softly into Maggie’s shoulder.“And you know what happens to boys who are too soft, Maggie? They turn into faggots.” 

_‘Fuck you’_ runs through Maggie’s head as her heart seizes in her chest and her blood is seemingly replaced by burning flames. But she knows she must maintain a semblance of self-control for Richie’s sake and bites back the flood of insults she wants to throw in her older sister’s face. She simply blinks and says, “I’ll see you at mom’s for Thanksgiving.” 

She then turns to grab her purse, ignoring her sister’s protests. She has absolutely no desire to be around someone that is content with insulting her son and allowing her bratty children to bully him. She knew she had mother intuition, but in that moment she knew she definitely had mother bear instincts as well. 

“You’re being ridiculous, Maggie.” Linda’s voice follows her as she heads toward the door. “They were just messing with him.”

“Oh, it’s not _them_ that makes me want to leave.” Maggie says, putting Richie down on his two feet so he can slide on his sneakers, an ability he had recently learned and was very much proud of. 

“Yeah, your kids are nasty little brats. I didn’t expect much, given that _you_ were the same way. No, it’s the fact that you think it’s okay to belittle me in front of my son and insinuate such nasty things about him because he’s two and as any two year old, he _cries_ because he unfortunately has a bitch for an aunt and a bunch of assholes as cousins.” Maggie moves to sweep Richie back up, “I mean, the apple doesn’t far too far from the tree.”

“Yeah? If that’s the case, that little brat won’t have any friends just like you.”

“Okay? Who of the two of us is married to their best friend and owns a home and which of us is living off our mother’s retirement fund and was left by their husband, that slept with half their bridal party? It sure isn’t _me_ , Linda.” And with that, Maggie promptly exits before Richie is subject to the stream of swears about to erupt from his Aunt. 

Needless to say, Maggie was not overly keen on allowing Richie to be around her sister or his cousins after that entire fiasco. Nor was Linda exactly overjoyed by the prospect of inviting her sister back into her house. Sure, they would have to interact over holidays and reunions for their mother’s sake, but after Maggie had stormed out of her sister’s house, she had not made any attempts to plan any playdates for Richie with Linda’s trio of brats. 

Went, however does not have any other siblings that could offer any children that would redeem the idea of “cousins” for Richie’s family schema. Cousins were often a child’s first friend, so Richie had been deprived of that development which made the task of socializing him slightly harder. Maggie and Went knew some families in the Derry area with kids close to Richie’s age, but most of them ran in their own social circles or were not people Maggie felt comfortable around (i.e., Butch Bowers and his terror of a son, Henry). 

Maggie could have possible pursued other attempts at getting Richie into the social world of toddlers, but she did not necessarily feel overly compelled to do so. She knew it was not exactly the best decision, but she and Went were more than content to have Richie spend as much time with them as possible. With them, he never risked getting hurt beyond scraping his knees and bumping his head and the only teasing he experienced was lighthearted and never elicited a reaction beyond a tongue sticking out and a playful pout. 

Playful teasing was not meant to have children crying, Linda. 

However, as Richie steadily approached school age and as Maggie noticed more and more parents setting up playdates for their kids, she decided it might be a good idea to seek out somebody that Richie may see as a friend-- even it it was a temporary friend until he felt confident enough to reach out to peers once he entered kindergarten. Once summer finally bled into Derry, Maggie decided to finally reach out to the Uris family that Mrs. Handley had told her about. She had intended on doing it earlier, but given that they were extremely busy moving into their new home, Maggie elected to wait until she could drive through the neighborhood without seeing someone carrying a load of boxes in or out of the two-story home. 

Maggie felt a buzz of anxiety in her lower stomach that she had not felt since she was subject to annoying icebreakers in high school as she dialed the number Mrs. Handley had given to her. She leaned against the counter, tapping her pen rhythmically against a notepad that she hoped would soon be filled with details of an impending playdate. 

“Uris residence, Andrea speaking.” A kind voice filtered through the phone.

“Hi Andrea! This is Maggie Tozier… I think Mrs. Handley told you about us when you were first moving into the neighborhood.”

“Yes, she did! How are you doing Maggie?” 

“I’m doing well, how about yourself?”

“I’m pretty good. Donald is currently at work and I _finally_ got Stanley down for a nap.” She laughs a little, “I can finally relax a little.”

“I completely understand.” Maggie laughs, “Richie decided he wanted to color anything except paper today,” Maggie internally cringes, hoping she is not painting a poor image of her son and inclining the Uris family to not want their son around him. Sure, Richie is a hyperactive and rambunctious kid, but Maggie knows with the protective instincts he already shows and the love he has for others, he would be nothing but a good friend to anyone. “But, I finally got him down.”

Andrea laughs, which is a good sign to Maggie. She does not seem appalled by the concept of a toddler doing something more interesting than watching paint dry. “Stanley insisted on helping me clean the closet today and I swear he somehow managed to double the mess that was there to begin with.” 

Maggie laughs at that, having had her fair share of experiences of Richie creating messes throughout the house. “Kids always imagine to impress me with their ability to be even messier than I could ever imagine.”

“It’s truly fascinating to watch their little minds in action.” 

“Oh definitely!” Maggie laughs, “I was actually calling to see if by any chance you might want to get our little terrors together one day. I know it must be difficult for Stan to make friends in a new place and I figured it might be nice for the two to get to know each other.”

“Oh, I’d love that. Mrs. Handley told me all about your boy. He is exactly what Stan needs, honestly. He can be so serious sometimes and your…Richie?” Maggie gives a sound of affirmation, “Richie sounds like an absolute hoot.”

“Oh, he’s something alright.” Maggie says with a laugh of admiration, as she looks into the living room where she can see dark hair flopping over the arm of the couch where Richie currently dozes. “He could definitely use a friend like Stan to bring him down a bit. Mrs. Handley told me how funny your boy is and I definitely think Richie would enjoy being with him a lot.”

“So, it’s a date!” Andrea exclaims, “When would work best for you, Maggie?”

“I think Friday would work just fine, if you would like to come over here.”

“I think that’s perfect! We still aren’t completely settled so I really appreciate that. So, see you around, noon?” 

“That’s works just fine for me. If anything changes or you have any questions, please feel free to call me and let me know, Andrea!”

“Will do! It was great talking to you and I can’t wait to see the two of you!”

“You too! Goodbye!” 

Maggie then hangs up the phone, releasing a breath she did not realize she was holding. She skims the details she had scratched onto the notepad and feels a calming warmth settle in her chest. Apparently not all mothers are cold, uneducated, or simply rude like some of the mothers she has had the misfortune of meeting… or being related to. 

xXx

Friday comes around quickly and Maggie had been ridiculously stressed out about the idea of meeting Andrea and Stan. Went had teased her relentlessly about it and asked if she was scared that Andrea would find out that she did not have a date to the junior prom.

Maggie had simply elbowed him and replied, “If you keep it up, you’re not going to have a date on our anniversary.”

“Alright, alright.” Went laughs, pressing a kiss to her temple before sliding on his work shoes. “There really is nothing to worry about. They’re kids. They are going to play and you and Andrea are going to gossip about the neighbors while sipping sweet tea in the kitchen. At worst, one of the kids, probably our klutz of a son, is going to bump their head.”

“Hey, he’s only a klutz because his father is the most graceless, lankiest man I’ve ever met.”

“Hey, he got stuck with those genes. _You_ chose them.”

“I’m glad I did.” She huffs out, slumping against their pillows. “I’m just scared that maybe Linda was right and maybe Richie is a little hypersensitive. What if he throws a tantrum or something and is stuck being friends with no one except his mom and dad?”

“I think we’re pretty cool.” Went offers. “Also, your sister, I’m sorry, is a complete bitch. Richie is a little sensitive. I’ll admit that, but he's three. He’s going to get frustrated sometimes and if these Uris people are actually decent people and have produced a spawn that isn’t the satan incarnate, I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.” He smiles at her, “Plus, our kid is pretty great.”

“I know.” She laughs a little. “I just worry about him sometimes.”

“Call the presses. A mother worries about her child!” 

“Okay, I get it. I know I’m being irrational. I just want him to have fun today and hopefully develop some form of social skills.”

“Mags, he has _plenty._ The kid has a motormouth. We have nothing to worry about. Everything is going to be just fine.” He pulls Maggie close to his broad chest, “Just wait and see, okay? This doesn’t have to be 100% effective, either. Stan is most likely just going to be Richie’s first neighborhood buddy before he goes off to school and makes more friends. As long as Richie is able to handle socializing without either of them crying or hitting each other, I will deem it a success in my book.”

“Alright. Thank you, Went.” She smiles softly, “Sorry I worry about everything.”

“You think I don’t? I just play it off with jokes. Trust me, I’m terrified that our son is going to live in our basement with us till he’s forty.” 

“No you don’t!” She hits him playfully on the elbow. “Go fill some cavities and make some kid cry.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” Went laughs. “Speaking of teeth, you and Richie need to get yours cleaned before the end of this month.”

“Go to work, Went.” She huffs, kissing his jawline. 

“Love you, Mags. Don’t worry too much, alright.”

“I won’t and I love you too.”

Maggie does continue to worry as the morning progresses. Richie wakes up cranky and that immediately has Maggie wanting to call Andrea and tell her that Richie is sick or something. She quickly pushes the idea out of her mind and focuses her energy into getting Richie out of his grouchy mood. She starts by coaxing him with breakfast which he barely picks at with a glower on his face. 

She then starts talking to him softly as she dresses him into a pair of bibs which he gripes about the entire time. He ends up crying as she works the buckles the straps around the buttons and this has her nerves beginning to fray at the edges. 

Just as she is about to finally call it quits with his relentless crankiness, she elects to lay him against her chest and pull her fingers through his hair until she feels the tension she did not realize he was holding in his body slowly evaporate. 

“You okay, baby?”

“Is Stan mean?” He asks, moving his head away from her hand.

“Oh, baby.” She laughs a little, feeling guilty that she didn’t even think to reassure her son about today because she was so fixated on how it looked from her eyes. “Stanley isn’t like your cousins. He is your age and is new here. He will not be mean to you like David, Danny, and Jenna were. I promise.” 

“Okay.” He says, his eyes trusting and body starting to finally relax. “Sorry for bein’ crabby.”

“It’s okay. We’re gonna have a lot of fun today, right?” 

“Yes!” And just like a flip of a switch, Richie is back to bouncing around the house and prattling mindlessly to her as she straightens up the house so it looks slightly less like a toddler actively lives here and more like a toddler occasionally visits. She doesn’t elect to deep clean the place by any means. She wants the place to look like Hurricane Richie didn’t just plow through, not like some unlived in picture from a JCPenny catalogue. 

Just as planned, there is a knock on the door around noon. Maggie is able to soothe her nerves as she opens the door to a kind-faced woman with soft brown hair tied in a bun, holding a small boy with spiral curls and an inquisitive look upon his face.

“Hello!” Maggie immediately greets, stepping to the side of the door, “Come in!” 

“Hi Maggie! Thank you so much for the invitation.” She sets Stan on the floor and Richie comes running in, stopping directly behind his mother’s legs. “Can you say hello, Stan.”

“Yeah.” Stan answers, looking at Richie then at his mom.

“Stan.” Andrea presses, the expression on her face indicating that this type of attitude is not unexpected from her toddler. 

“Hi.” The boy says softly to Richie, waving his hand at the boy. “I’m Stan.”

“Hi! I’m Richie!” Richie exclaims, bouncing on his heels slightly. He looks up at Andrea and waves to her as well, “I’m Richie.”

Andrea laughs, clearly amused by the boy’s energy, much to Maggie’s relief. “Hi Richie. I’m Mrs. Uris. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“I’m Mrs. Tozier, Stan. Is there anything either of you need before we get Stan and Rich settled?”

“I think he’s okay for now. I could go for something cold, though.” 

“I can definitely get you something if you want to come with me and we could let the boys do their thing.”

“That would be great.” Andrea nods, and follows Maggie into the living room that has some toys in a chest against the wall and board games organized into a bookshelf. 

“Is there anything you boys want to do in particular?”

Richie turns to Stan, “Do ya like cars? I do.”

Stan contemplates this for a second before nodding his head. “Yeah.”

Richie, without hesitation grabs Stan’s hand and pulls him toward the toy chest where the two of them begin undoing the cleaning Maggie had done prior to the Uris’s arrival. 

“They should be good for now.” Andrea says, following Maggie into the kitchen.

“Yeah, we can easily hear them from in here and we can check on them if it gets too loud.”

“Or too quiet.” Andrea laughs.

“I’ve never been more scared than when Richie is quiet.” Maggie says, pulling out a pitcher of sweet tea. “Is sweet tea okay? We have lemonade, soda, and wine if you’re in that kind of mood.” Maggie’s chest tightens slightly, hoping such a comment doesn’t throw Andrea the wrong impression. They only have wine for special occasions.

Andrea laughs and shakes her head. “I want to say yes, I really do. But, I think I’ll settle for the tea this time. Call me back here when the _men_ take the boys.” 

“I can definitely arrange that.” Maggie laughs, pouring herself a glass, sitting across from Andrea at the kitchen table.

“So, tell me a little about what made you move to Derry.” Maggie starts.

The two women immediately hit it off. Maggie learns that Andrea and Donald are eight years older than her and Went’s twenty-six years, having elected to travel the world immediately after college before having Stan at thirty-one. Maggie is enamored with the idea of travel and admits that she and Went had planned on doing something similar when they got engaged their junior year of college, but of course that went on the backburner when she got pregnant with Richie. 

“You definitely still have the chance!” Andrea encourages. “It was truly the best experience of our lives, other than having Stan of course. Travel is something more people should do.”

“I’ll have to talk to Went about it and maybe we can when Richie is older.”

“Or out of the house. I think it’s something a couple should try to do together, but kids might add a little spice to it.” Andrea shrugs. 

“I think Richie would be miserable if his current attention span lasts into his teens.” Maggie laughs. “It’ll probably be something to do once he goes off into the adult world.”

Andrea tells her about how her husband is Rabbi at the local synagogue and how she works as a nurse at Derry medical. They moved here from Philadelphia, deciding that they no longer wanted to live near a city given that their son was so young and that they had a desire to expose him to that small town feel where he could ride bikes, meet friends, and live a life that was not interrupted by tourists and random police sirens blaring through the night.

“We wanted to live here for the same reasons.” Maggie says with a smile. “We actually went to school in Bangor together and I was familiar with the area and Went knew he could open his dental practice here, so here we are.”

“I think Derry is definitely a good place to raise kids. I have not had any issues since coming here. Everyone, especially in this neighborhood, have been nothing but kind to us.” She laughs a little. “There have been a few people I’ve gotten some bad feelings about, but nevertheless, I really feel content here and could see Donald and I staying here for a long time.”

Maggie nods eagerly. “Definitely. We’ve had no complaints thus far… but if you don’t mind me asking, who has given you some issues?”

“Well, the chief of police, Bowers, I think it is? I met him while talking to the Hanlon family and he seems like a real piece of work.”

“Oh, the Hanlons are such nice people. I’ve only talked to them in passing, but they seem so kind.” Maggie adds, “But, that Bowers, we really do not like him. He is definitely a racist and a drunk. I guess his wife died and he’s just been off the rails ever since.” 

“Oh, I definitely detected that from him. I was simply talking to Mr. Hanlon and he came over as if he was assaulting me and started interrogating him when _nothing_ was happening.” Andrea shakes her head, “Oh and then this one woman. She seems okay, but extremely high strung and overly protective of her son.”

“Sonia Kaspbrak?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“She’s a patient at Went’s and I’ve talked to her a few times. She really does not understand the concept of someone doing anything riskier than sitting in a padded room.”

“Careful Maggie, you might get bed sores from that padded room.” Andrea laughs.

“She’s a piece of work. Initially, I wanted to meet her because I know she has a son about Richie and Stan’s age, but I think she would try to have me arrested if she knew I let Richie eat dinner without chewing his food for him.”

“She would hate me. I let Stan sit at the kitchen counter without a helmet.” 

Maggie snorts between laughter at that. “Speaking of the two monsters, I’ll go check on them and see if they want something to snack on. Feel free to sit on the counter without a helmet or pour yourself another glass without water wings.”

Maggie makes her way out of the kitchen and into the living room where she is able to see and hear the boys without disturbing them. 

The two boys are on their knees, giggling as their cars go down the ramp they’ve set up against the coffee table. The two are talking back and forth to each other, eliciting loud laughs from each other in whatever drivel they are conjuring up in a pace so fast Maggie cannot really get a grasp on as to what they are specifically saying. 

The two of them are laughing loudly as Richie attempts some of his poor impressions he’s learned from his father as they take turns letting the cars crash into each other. Richie then starts making beeping sounds with every movement of the car, cackling as if this is the funniest thing in the entire world. 

“Beep!” Richie squeaks when Stan moves his car slightly. “Beep Beep!” 

Stan pauses for a moment as Richie continues his incessant beeping. He cocks his head slightly, a slight annoyed expression ghosting upon his face. “Not funny, Richie.”

This immediately has Maggie convinced this is the last time Stan will be willing to play with her son.

Stan takes his hand and covers up Richie’s laughing mouth and looks him in the eye, “Not funny, okay?”

Richie’s laughter halts and he stares at Stan for a moment. Maggie immediately thinks he’s going to cry, but then he pokes Stan in the nose and whispers, “Beep.”

Stan is unable to contain himself at that, the serious expression immediately melts away as he succumbs to a bout of giggles with her son. They’re laying on the floor next to each other beeping at each other as they bounce their cars off of the ramp. 

Maggie cannot help but smile at their antics, deciding to make her presence known by walking toward the two babbling boys. 

“Hi boys, do you want--”

“No!” Richie shouts. “Stan can’t go!”

“I wanna stay, please.” Stan says, sitting up, giving Maggie a pleading expression. 

“Oh, honey, you’re fine. I was wondering if you two were hungry.”

They turn to look at each other for a moment before nodding together. “Yes.” 

“Alright, well lets get into the kitchen and we will get something yummy, okay?”

“Then we play ‘gain?” Stan asks, holding his hand out to Richie so the boy can stand up with his help as another poorly coordinated toddler. 

“Of course.” Maggie responds, smiling as she guides them into the kitchen. 

Stan and Richie end up playing long after their snack and only break one knickknack off of the fireplace mantle where Stan and Richie have decided to launch one of his cars off of the couch and toward the open window. Maggie later finds that they had been successful in previous attempts when she stumbles upon a cluster of plastic cars in the rose bush that is planted beneath said window. As they play, Maggie and Andrew continue exchanging stories from their past and experience as parents of two toddlers with rather distinctive personality quirks. 

The day comes to an end when both boys end up falling asleep next to each other on the living room floor, significantly later than their usual nap times. Maggie and Andrea simply did not have it in them to halt the fun the two boys were clearly having to separate them, so they merely allowed them to throw their schedules off in order to enjoy as much of the day together as they possibly could. 

Andrea slowly picks Stan off the ground, careful not to jostle him too much.

“Thank you so much for having us all day. It was wonderful meeting you and I really think Stan enjoyed meeting Richie.” Andrea whispers as Maggie movies Richie onto the couch.

“Oh, I know Richie loved having Stan over. I really hope we can do this again.” 

“Definitely. I just know he’s going to be so upset when he wakes up and finds out he’s not with Richie anymore.” Andrea laughs softly, “I’ll be sure to give you a call tonight. We need to do something with the boys and the men.”

“That way we can have our wine night.” Maggie laughs, as she walks Andrea toward the front door.

“I like the sound of that. Thank you again Maggie.” and with that, Andrea exits and makes her way back home.

Maggie feels a deep warmth in her heart as she bends to clean up the toys Stan and Richie have left scattered about the living room. Just as she hears Went’s car pull up the driveway, Richie releases a tired whine from his spot on the couch.

His eyes are half open and it is clear that he is not fully coherent. “Stan?” He mumbles, looking around with bleary eyes. 

“Stan had to go home, baby.”

“Wanted to stay.”

“I know, baby. We’re going to see him again, okay?”

“Soon?” He asks, his eyes already fluttering shut again. 

“Of course.” She reassures, coaxing him to continue his nap, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Went walks in, his dark hair slightly mused from a busy day of work. “How’d it go?” he asks, as he undoes the first two buttons of his shirt. 

“It went really well. Andrea is incredibly sweet and Richie and Stan really hit it off, I think.” 

“I told you it would work out. Now, he finally has someone he can be friends with until he goes off to school.”

“Actually, I don’t think so.” Maggie says with a smile. After just one playdate and seeing how Richie’s hyperactivity clicked well with Stan’s surprisingly dry wit, and how they just seemed to really enjoy each other’s presence, Maggie knew that Stan would be a longterm friend in her son’s life. He would not be a simple neighborhood friend that faded as they found their own cliques in school. No, Stan and Richie would definitely stick together now and throughout the approaching years on the schoolyard. She would not be surprised if their friendship extended into high school and followed them throughout life’s course. There was truly something special in their interactions that Maggie had not initially expected to come out of a single playdate. 

“I think Stan could be Richie’s best friend. I really do.”

“Well damn, what kind of patience does this kid have?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you catch the vine reference.  
> An attempt was made here. I'm out of practice and a wildly sleep deprived college student. I am not the 12 year old from wattpad that you would have expected. Shocking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got bored in between finishing a project and made this mess. It's a mild disaster and I only proofread it once and boy I'm sure it shows. But honestly, if you're the type to go out of your way to correct random spelling or comma errors in someone's work... ya got too much time on your hands. 
> 
> Anyway, I have an exam this week and a few projects but I have been really trying to flex my writing abilities more because I want to be moderately decent at it before 2020 ends???? How are we looking thus far?

Maggie knew Richie couldn’t see well when he squinted at the books Went was attempting to read with him.

**March 1980**

Richie had grown in a multitude of ways in the last year. The most discernible changes being those in his physical growth. His face, while still soft, was not nearly as pinchable as it had been just months prior. He was beginning to stretch out and lose some of the squishy bits that Maggie liked to poke anytime he was griping about something and wanted to hear him giggle. Although he was not nearly as chunky as he had been, he was significantly more dense and Maggie found herself having to shift him around more when she carried him. 

She truly feared the day where she would pick him up one last time, decide he was getting too heavy and need a break from holding him, and then _never_ pick him up again. When she expressed this fear to Went in bed after Richie’s fourth birthday, he simply told her to lift some weights and carry their son to the altar when he got married. She had immediately put her pajamas back on after that and the night did not go as initially planned. 

Richie’s cognitive abilities were also something that had matured exponentially over the last year. He had gotten a slight hold on his emotions and was no longer likely to break down the moment his feelings were hurt. He did not shed a single tear in front of his cousins despite their incessant teasing at the Thanksgiving dinner Maggie forced herself to attend as a way to fulfill her elderly mother’s wishes. He did, however, curl up in his mother’s lap the moment they were alone and allow silent tears to be shed as he mumbled everything they had said and did to him while she and Went were preparing dinner with the other adults.

He had balled himself up on her lap, fidgeting with his hands, looking down as if too embarrassed to meet her eyes while describing the nastiness that came off his cousin’s tongues. 

“Jenna said I’m the most ugliest cousin and ‘veryone thinks so.” She could feel tears fall off his cheeks and onto the hand that was wrapped around his chest. “And Danny and David said I had no friends… but s’not true. Stans my bestest friend but he’s at home and I don’t have proof so they said he’s ‘maginary.”

“You are so handsome Richie. You have such nice hair, beautiful eyes, and so many angel kisses on your nose. No one in their right mind would think you’re ugly, baby.” She says, pushing his head up to meet her kind eyes. “And you’re right. Stan _is_ your best friend and they’re just jealous because they will probably never have a friend that is as special to them as Stan is to you.”

“If they’re ‘ealous, why do they say it?” Richie inquires, a confused expression blending in with the sadness, “I wouldn’t tease ‘em if they had no friends.”

“Some people just have mean hearts, baby.” She explains, mesmerized by the compassion her son has. “That makes them bitter and mean to anyone with a kind heart, like you.” 

“I don’t like seeing them very much.” He mumbled, rubbing at his puffy eyes. 

“I don’t either. We only have to see them when we see Grandma because that makes her happy. Do you think you can do that for her?”

“Yeah. Grandma likes me, I think.”

“She loves you, baby.” 

After that entire episode, Maggie had snapped at her sister outside, out of their children and mother’s hearing range. Linda had again dismissed it as Richie being a tattletale and a baby that “can’t take a joke just like his mother.” Maggie obviously informed her that the only joke in the family was Linda’s “inability to hold down a boyfriend for more than three weeks.” After that, Maggie went back to ignoring her sister and planned on only seeing her during holiday get-togethers with their mother. 

Fortunately, they had gotten out of spending Christmas ‘79 with their family because blessed Stan had gotten the chickenpox from one of the other little boys at the synagogue. Given that Richie and Stan were nearly attached at the hip and spent nearly every available moment together, it was a surprise to no one when just a day before Christmas Eva, Richie woke up feverish and itchy. Maggie had called her mother, feigning disappointment at their inability to bring Richie up for he was too sick and potentially contagious. Luckily, Maggie’s mom had forgotten about the fact that Linda’s kids had already had chickenpox. 

That Christmas morning, they had a lot more fun cooped up in the Tozier house, letting Richie open presents on the couch, covered in calamine. The Uris family, despite not celebrating Christmas, had come over, not detecting any reason for the boys to be separated, seeing as they were sharing the same virus together. They hadn’t been too energetic, obviously, and simply watched claymations of Rudolph and Frosty in the living room. Maggie was sure to snap a few pictures of the boys once they fell asleep, snuggled around each other in the blanket fort Donald and Went had created for them. 

Maggie genuinely believed that Richie’s emotional maturity had definitely stemmed from a surge in his social exposure now that he had found a best friend in Stan. No child enjoyed crying in front of their friends and Richie had found an ability to bite back tears and fits anytime emotions surged within him. He still felt comfortable crying in front of Maggie and Went, but she knew there would come a day when he would start holding back entirely and would think they could not detect what he was feeling or when he wanted to cry. But Maggie would. She always would. She knew her Richie.

Richie’s social skills had also advanced. He was becoming better at reading social cues from others and knew how to properly interact not only with kids his age, but adults as well. Adults were often surprised when he would point at the pictures in menus and attempt to order for himself at a restaurant. Maggie still had to clarify his order more often than not because Richie often failed to enunciate his words as any four-year-old did. 

He was starting to demonstrate a more extroverted personality and was always eager to engage in conversation with anyone that appeared willing. Even when no one was around, Maggie had found Richie talking to himself and creating a random dialogue with whatever was surrounding him. It was also discovered that Richie’s mouth did not stop when he was asleep. Nope. He had started talking in his sleep and occasionally Maggie and Went would sit next to his bed and talk to their half coherent son as a way to entertain themselves before bed. 

According to his doctors, Richie was rather advanced for his age. His vocabulary had expanded quite dramatically and he was speaking in full sentences more often than not. He exhibited an extremely high level of intelligence and a desire to learn that his pediatrician explained was rather unique in a child his age. 

However, despite Richie’s growth in so many facets of his four-year-old life, he lacked any reading capabilities. _That_ had risen a few red flags in his last doctor’s appointment and this apparent disinterest in reading the stack of books in his bedroom was attributed to an “excess amount of time in front of the television.” Maggie had been confused at that, given that the only time Richie ever really had a TV in front of him was when he was about to take a nap or during his snack immediately after his nap. But, perhaps even the few minutes he had in front of the TV was growing to be excessive and preventing their baby from reading at his age level. 

Maggie and Went had made attempts to get Richie to read with them as he began demonstrating an ability to comprehend words and knew _all_ of the letters of the alphabet-- he even knew which ones were vowels. However, any attempt at reading made Richie’s nose turn in the opposite direction. He had, of course, stared at the books Maggie put before him and would quickly reject any attempt at flipping through the pages. Maggie could only assume this was due to Richie’s tendency to give up on something the moment he wasn’t perfect at it. Richie always gave a few solid tries at anything he put his mind to, but if he failed more than twice, he _always_ called it quits. 

Maggie suspected this was largely due to the fact that Richie was so smart and the idea of not being absolutely perfect at something would somehow diminish the skillset he already had. She knew he needed to get out of that mindset and quick, otherwise he would never develop a quality work ethic. He would merely settle for whatever was easiest for him and never expand his horizons into something greater. Maggie knew that wasn’t a _huge_ deal given that he was four, but she wanted to remove this pattern of behavior before it truly impacted her son’s life. So, Maggie and Went finally put their foot down and decided they would ease Richie into reading and show him that he would eventually get better at it; all he needed to do was put forth a little effort and be patient with himself. The patience part was what scared Maggie-- Richie had as much patience as… well, a four-year-old. 

It was a Saturday morning when Went decided to sit the boy down and try to get him to read a book with him. Maggie and Went agreed that he was the better teacher of the two of them and would be more likely to get somewhere with Richie. Maggie knew she would end up giving into Richie’s disdain for reading and start reading the book to him rather than letting him try. 

After eliminating all potential distractions, the two were settled on the couch, Richie curled up in Went’s lap, with a copy of _The Giving Tree_ held by both of them. The two looked comfortable and Maggie could not help but smile as she observed the peaceful moment between her two boys.

Unfortunately that bliss was very short lived.

Went pointed to the title on the cover and placed his finger on each individual word and read aloud, “ _The Giving Tree.”_ He looked back down at Richie. “Can you read that back for me.”

“No.” Richie answers, cocking his head slightly and narrowing his eyes.

“Okay listen closely and watch my fingers.” Went says patiently. “ _The._ See? There are three letters. T, H, and E. That says “ _The.”_ Can you read that back for me?”

“No.” Richie answers.

“Bud, I just read it to you.”

“I know it’s called _The Giving Tree,_ but I can’t read it there.” Richie explains, pushing the book away from his face, squinting harshly. “ _The?”_

“Yeah! Good. Now, this word is giving. Say it with me. Giv-ing.”

“Giving.” 

“Good! Now can you read the first two words on the cover for me?”

“No.” Richie says, one of his hands grabbing onto one of his curls, a habit he has developed anytime he feels overwhelmed. “I can’t.”

“Rich, we just did it.” Went explains patiently. “The words have not changed.”

“I know they’re there. I can’t read them.”

“Well look at the letters, okay? You know your letters. Mommy and Daddy taught you those last year.” Richie nods, remembering the large and colorful flashcards he has tucked into his nightstand. “What letter is this?” Went asks, pointing to the G.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t look like anything.”

“What do you mean, Rich? You know this.”

“No I don’t! It’s not a letter!” Richie starts to raise his voice, the frustration evident in his voice. 

“Buddy, it _is_ a letter.” Went explains, sounding somewhat exasperated.

“No it’s not!” Richie groans, pushing the book away, irritated. “It’s a G. It says _`Giving’._ ” He turns away from the book, obviously over this excessively long task of reading the cover of a book. 

“That’s right. Buddy, you don’t need to be mad. You’re going to catch on.”

“I can’t! I can’t read the letters!” 

“You just did, buddy. It’s okay. Reading can be hard for some kids.” He strokes Richie’s hair back, “You need to be patient with yourself.”

“Hang on, Went.” Maggie interrupts, approaching Richie and Went. She’s been able to catch a snippet of the struggle after she had left to start lunch. She kneels in front of them, taking in the flustered look on her son’s face. “You can’t read the letters, Rich?”

“ _No!”_ He cries, rubbing at his eyes to prevent tears of anger from flowing over. She knows her son is smart and having _this_ much trouble reading when he is capable of retaining almost all of the information presented his way really isn’t adding up to her. She could attribute it to his inherent perfectionism, but she knows deep down that is definitely not what’s in play here. Something clicks in the back of her mind, but she wants to make sure she’s right before she jumps to any conclusions.

“Richie, I want you to try and read the first page for me, okay?”

“Maggie we aren’t past the cover.” Went says.

“I know, I just want to watch his face.”

Went opens the book to the first page where “Once there was a tree…” is printed on the page. 

Richie looks at his mom, consternation on his face, before looking down at the page. His face twists as he stares at the letters and he starts squinting his eyes and moving his head back and forth and cocking it side to side as he attempts to get a visual on what words are printed on the page. “I-I don’t know.” 

“Went, I don’t think he can see.” Maggie answers, her beliefs confirmed. She is certain that her son is going to need a prescription for glasses… and a high prescription at that. She had been concerned at his lack of reading ability, but she had never sat directly in front of him and observed the way his face twisted like her mother’s would when she didn’t have her reading glasses. “He needs to see an optometrist.”

“I can see you.” Richie responds, slightly confused by the accusation.

“Probably not as well as you should be, honey.” Maggie explains, picking her son off her husband's lap. “Sometimes people have eyes that don’t work without a little help and they need glasses to help them see better. I think your eyes are struggling some and might need a little extra help.”

“Old people wear glasses.” Richie immediately answers.

“No, a lot of people wear them, daddy wears glasses when he’s at work because he has to see extra good when he’s cleaning teeth.”

“Daddy is old.”

“You set him up to say that. Don’t pretend you didn’t, Mags.” Went grouches. “It’s okay buddy. A lot of kids wear glasses and they’re going to help you see everything and read everything.”

“Stan doesn’t have glasses.”

“I know, but there are other kids that will wear glasses when you go to school. I promise.” Went reassures. “You want to be able to read, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” He mumbles, dropping his head down. 

“It’ll be okay, baby. Daddy is going to get you an appointment and Mommy will take you and we’ll get you some pretty glasses and then Mommy will take you to get ice cream if you promise to read the menu and _not_ look at the pictures.”

“Okay!” Richie answers, easily persuaded by the notion of frozen treats. 

“You really know how to make him do anything, don’t you?” Went laughs

“I know our son.” Maggie says with a shrug.

xXx

Went was able to schedule Richie an appointment for Tuesday afternoon. He was lucky that he had had a biology class with the primary doctor at the practice, otherwise Richie would have had to wait until May to get penciled in. There was absolutely _no way_ Maggie was allowing Richie to continue seeing the world as a blurry mess. She, unlike her son, is absolutely thrilled when Tuesday rolls around.

He is awfully quiet as they sit in the waiting room, pretending to be interested in an outdated _Highlights_ magazine that he definitely cannot read. Maggie knows that Richie is nervous about the prospect of having to wear glasses-- which Maggie knows will be the end result of this appointment. She has not tried to sugarcoat this with him, but Richie, being stubborn, is set on the idea that his eyes are absolutely fine.

When they are called back, Richie looks over to Maggie, anxiety written across his face. “My tummy hurts. I don’t want to go back there.” Richie says, looking up at her. Maggie knew if this had taken place a year ago, Richie would already be crying and clinging to her.

“That’s just because you’re nervous. I know it’s scary, but this is going to help you.” And rather than letting him walk himself back, she elects to pick him up so he can feel a sense of comfort as they make their way back to the room. Richie buries his face into her collarbone, mumbling something about not wanting ice cream _that_ bad. 

She cannot help but laugh as she rubs his back soothingly. They do not wait long before the doctor enters the room. 

“Hello Mrs. Tozier,” he puts a hand out for her to shake. “And hello to you too Richard.”

Richie removes himself from his mother’s hold and looks up at the young doctor. “Hi. I like Richie more.”

“Richie sounds great. It’s really great to meet the two of you. Went told me that Richie has been having some trouble reading letters. Sound about right?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Richie answers. “I can read.”

“Well, I don’t doubt your ability to read, Richie. Your dad says you’re a real smartypants. But, there might be a chance that we can make you read better.” He gestures to the chair centered in the room. “Richie, if you can come up here, we can get started. We’re just going to start with a standard eye exam, get a feel of how severe this is and what the primary issue is here. I’ll also be dilating his eyes so he will definitely need to avoid looking into any lights when you take him home. We will give him some sunglasses so the ride home isn’t too painful. We will also be letting him try on some frames. We should be able to get everything done by this Friday and you’ll be able to pick up his glasses and he will be good to go.” He rubs his hands together, sitting himself on a rolling stool. “Any questions?”

“Is there a way that I can read without glasses?”

“Nothing that you qualify for just yet, kiddo.” The doctor offers a sympathetic smile. “It’s not a big deal, I promise. I see kids even younger than you in here. Trust me, you’re going to feel so much better when you can see better than some superheroes.”

“That good? Will I get X-Ray vision?”

“Not this time. I’m sure that’ll be in the works here soon.”

xXx

Just as expected, it was determined that Richie definitely needed glasses and had a rather severe cause of hyperopia. The doctor had reassured Maggie that it was nothing to fret over and that there was no evidence to really suggest this was any different than Richie’s eyes had always been, so early onset macular degeneration was not a concern. They would however, have yearly appointments to ensure that the prescription Richie had was indeed correct and alter it if necessary. 

She could not help but feel a sense of failure at her inability to notice that he could not see well. She had always gotten a good read on Richie and this felt like an instance where she had failed her son and if the doctor was right about his eyes most likely being this way when he was born, she had let him experience the world as a blurry mess for four years of his life. Went had reassured her that this was something that absolutely no one could have predicted because no one ever assumed they really had to take their toddler to an eye doctor.

“Mags, you and I have near perfect vision now, in our mid-twenties. We would have never expected him to need glasses when he was a baby.”

“I know, but I should have noticed something was wrong.” She says, pushing her hands through her curly hair.

“ _How?_ There would be no signs of it whatsoever. Richie did not realize the way he was seeing the world wasn’t right. He’s under the assumption that everything is meant to be blurry. He would have never spoke up about it.” He wraps his arms around her narrow shoulders. “ _You_ realized something was wrong. I really just thought he was being stubborn with me. You realized that he wasn’t being defiant, but was frustrated because we were telling him there were words on a page that he couldn’t read. _You’re_ the reason he’s able to get help now.”

“I’m just sad that he couldn’t see for _this_ long.”

“Mags, he’s four. He’s not going to remember any of this in two or three years. He could have 20/20 vision and have seen the world in all its glory and not remember jack shit of it when he enters the first grade.” Went declares, kneading his fingers into her tense shoulder muscles. “Yeah, it kinda sucks but we really can’t change it. We can just help him now and wait for him to break his first pair within a week of having them.”

“God, this is going to _really_ hurt our wallet, isn’t it?”

“With our son? Oh, without a question. We will be lucky if he is capable of keeping a pair for longer than a month.” 

“I blame your side.”

“Who chipped their tooth falling down the stairs to my fraternity?”

“Oh hush. I planned that because I knew you were a dental student and wanted to marry a wealthy man.”

“I knew it. Just with me for the free teeth cleanings and the money.” Went laughs.

“Of course Why else would I want to be with a noodly dork from Maine?” 

“My god-like features? My charming wit? My humility?” 

“Your ridiculous sense of humor?” 

“I made water come out of your nose on our first date.” Went retaliates, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek. “Anyway, we really should not feel bad about this. I know we want to give Richie absolutely everything… but we really can’t Mags. There is _no_ way we would have known anything was wrong with him. But we do now and we’re fixing it and that’s more than a lot of parents do. We’re doing just fine. He doesn’t seem too screwed up yet.”

“Why can’t you just let me panic and obsess over my shortcomings as a mother for two minutes?”

“Because there are no shortcomings. You do everything for our boy. I’ve said it before. If you really weren’t a good mom, you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying about everything beyond your control. We’re doing fine. Stop beating yourself up about it.”

xXx

Friday comes around too slow for Maggie’s liking and too quick for Richie. He sits anxiously in the same room, awaiting to finally try on the black frames Maggie picked out because she knew precisely what would fit her son’s face shape the best. He kicks his legs back and forth, keeping his head down. Maggie knows he is still incredibly self-conscious about the idea of glasses, but knows he will grow accustomed to them quicker than he knows and will be much better off when he sees the world as crisp and clear and can read a book without squinting his eyes to slits and forcing it several feet away from his confused face. 

The doctor makes his way in, holding a small leather glasses case. He hands the case to Richie, smiling kindly at the boy.

“You want to make sure you’re really careful with these, alright? Now, lets get them on and we’ll make sure you’re able to read the letters like we tried last time.”

Richie nods his head slowly, slowly placing the glasses onto his face. Maggie immediately notices the way they magnify his already-large blue eyes and cannot help but think he looks absolutely adorable. She knows he’s going to think otherwise. 

Richie blinks a few times before turning to the letter board. “I see the bottom row!” He exclaims, clearly shocked. 

“Alright, now can you read the letters off for us?”

Richie nods his head excitedly, listing off the letters quickly and accurately, a task he had not been able to complete with the first three rows last time. “Was that good?”

“Excellent, Richie.” He pulls out a mirror for Richie to get a look at himself and that’s when the happiness comes to a halt.

“Why do my eyes look like _that?”_ He asks, disturbed by the dramatic magnification. “I don’t like it.”

“Well with these types of lenses, there’s a magnifying effect. It might look weird for a bit, but you’re going to be able to read like you just did and see everything better than you ever have.”

“I look like a bug.”

“I think you look wonderful, baby.” Maggie reassures. “You have such pretty blue eyes and now everyone can see them!”

“It’s silly looking.”

“ _Not_ at all, honey. You look wonderful.” Maggie squeezes his shoulder lovingly. “I love them and I’m happy that you’ll be able to read with Mommy and Daddy now.”

Richie simply shrugs, clearly dismayed by his appearance. 

“Now, I think it’s important to keep an eye on him and make sure he isn’t having any other issues with his vision. Make sure he’s not getting any headaches as that might be a sign we need to change the prescription to something else. Feel free to call anytime and we’ll get him in as soon as possible.”

“Thank you so much. We really appreciate it.” Maggie says, shaking his hand.

“Thank you.” Richie mumbles, grabbing Maggie’s hand, ready to finally get out of the office. 

Maggie sweeps Richie off his feet, grunting slightly under his weight. He really is getting _big,_ not that she enjoys pondering this fact too much. “Now, are you ready to use your newly found reading skills somewhere?”

“I dunno.” Richie says, shrugging his shoulders. “I want them off.”

“Well, then how are you going to order ice cream?”

“I forgot! You promised!”

Maggie feigns shock. “ _Richie?_ Forgetting ice cream? Oh my. I guess he really doesn’t like it _that_ much. Maybe we should just go h--”

“No! I ‘membered! You promised! We gotta! Lets go! Now, now, now.” Richie wiggles impatiently in her arms, the sullen look morphing into one of pure excitement. 

“Oh, I suppose you’re right.” She says, putting him into the backseat of the car. She moves around and settles herself in the driver’s seat. She glances up into the rearview mirror where she sees him bouncing with excitement. “You really do look quite handsome in those glasses, baby.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Richie looks content at this. Maggie knows he’s a sensitive boy and has a few insecurities rooted in his little body; something that was definitely manifested in the few encounters he’s had with the less-than-pleasant side of Maggie’s family. She also isn’t hesitant to admit that he probably inherited a bit of his self-doubt from her. She was careful not to express it in front of him, but acting confident 24/7 was an impossible task.

She thinks he looks absolutely darling in the frames, but she knows they’re going to create a target for potential bullies once he gets older. Kids are mean and they just seem to get meaner every year… or maybe she just thinks that because now _her_ baby could be subject to schoolyard bullying. Hopefully by that point, Richie will have developed some level of self-esteem… she knows being around Stan more appears to cause a surge in his confidence. 

Perhaps he will find _more_ friends that will make him feel loved and accepted by someone that isn’t his doting mother and goofy father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corny mother-son bonding? My mcfucking favorite. This is easily the worst chapter so far. But, hey, content. Anyway, if my notes are correct, we are literally like 2 or so chapters away from making Baby Losers a thing!!!! Oh shit. Will Sonia go to a wine night with Andrea and Maggie? Or will she call CPS? Who knows.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weaving in random anecdotes that did not require a full ass chapter just because I think of them whilst writing Maggie's thought process and want to add to the word count? My one and ONLY skill. Or is it just irritating because it creates a meandering half-story with almost no chronological order? 
> 
> I dunno. You tell me. Roast me. I can take it. Just kidding. I'm a Cancer and I will do... ABSOLUTELY nothing because I'm a 21 year old child.
> 
> one time a non-white person (idk what their race was and im not gonna make assumptions its 2020) looked at me and said "If you're 21, I'm white."

Maggie knew Richie was going to be just fine in kindergarten despite her initial fears.

**August 1981**

Maggie did not want to admit it, but she was absolutely mortified at the fact that Richie would be attending his first week of kindergarten in just under a week. The only people she had disclosed her feelings to had been Andrea, who, like her, was distraught about their babies growing up and Went, who was clearly emotional about this huge milestone but continued to put up a humorous front as to ease the distress weighing in Maggie’s heart. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t think Richie was ready for Kindergarten-- she knew he was. His intelligence had clearly blossomed once they overcame the obstacle of shitty eyesight. It had been recommended more than once that he skip kindergarten and start off in the first grade. There was rarely a moment that he was even mildly more interested in the TV than he was a book above his expected reading level. He was constantly engaged in a comic book or one of the many books they had had for him and new ones they had been forced to buy as he sped through the older ones. He had mastered the act of balancing a sippy cup of apple juice on his chest whilst he held some reading material over his head. The first time Maggie had caught him in this position, she immediately snapped a picture and had laughed over it with Andrea during one of their Wine Nights. 

“Oh my god, what a lazy ass.” Andrea had snorted, her cheeks flushed slightly.

“You’re telling me. This is all he does now. Holding more than one thing? Out of the question.”

He had also started demonstrating a sense of humor that was slightly more advanced than the mindless drivel and ridiculous faces he used to pull. He still attempted doing impressions with his father and Maggie had a feeling that was something Richie would  _ never  _ grow out of. He had yet to match Went’s natural ability to impersonate not only people, but animals and inanimate objects. Perhaps Richie would actually figure out how to alter his voices and accents and do something interesting with that skill as he got older. Maggie had a strong feeling that Richie’s ability to understand and use sarcasm, tell a genuine joke with an actual punchline, and rely on something other than fart sounds and twisted facial expressions, had been developed as a result of being around Stan so much. 

Stan had a surprisingly dry, deadpan sense of humor that no one would expect out of a five-year-old. More often than not, Stan had both Andrea and Maggie giggling when he would respond to Richie with a blank expression and a monotone voice. Richie was a constant ball of energy, running on the strongest Energizer batteries and Stan was the only one that had the ability to ground him with a few bland words and a dull face. If that did not successfully silence Richie, Stan had started “Beeping” Richie, a nice revival of what had sent them into a fit of uncontrollable giggles the day their friendship officially began. 

Maggie genuinely hoped the two boys would be able to utilize their humor as a way to lure more friends into their life. While Maggie was content with the idea of Stan being Richie’s best friend, she knew it was not ideal for  _ any  _ child to have only one friend. She really liked the idea of her friend having a solid group of friends that he could rely on through the trials of childhood that she and Went could not directly control or be a part of.

Sonia Kaspbrak thought differently as Maggie discovered that she only allowed her son, who was reportedly going to be home schooled despite the fact that Sonia had  _ zero _ credentials, to hang out with one person besides herself: the Denborough’s son, William. Apparently they had just settled into the neighborhood after the parents decided they were planning on having another child in the near future. Maggie had only met the couple in passing and had not had any legitimate interaction with them beyond small waves, seeing as Sonia had already informed them that Maggie and Andrea were two drunken wives that allowed their boys to get away with anything.  _ That  _ had clearly ruined their reputation with the new family and Sharon and Zack had avoided engaging with them each time they passed the two families downtown.

Sonia had actually called Child Protective Services on the Uris and Tozier families when she had heard (or eavesdropped on the plans Maggie and Andrea had discussed that morning whilst at the grocery store that morning) about Maggie having a Wine Night while the boys were playing in the backyard. She had informed CPS that the two mothers were allowing their fathers to recklessly throw their sons around while they were blacked out on the porch. In reality, the boys were screaming in joy as they leapt through a sprinkler and into a nearby kitty pool with their dads sitting in the grass next to them, making sure they did not slide in the slick grass. Their mothers, however, not in the mood to get wet as they had apparently “synced up,” barely finished an entire glass of wine in the three hours they had sat outside. They had been more preoccupied taking photos of their boys and discussing the back-to-school sales they wanted to take advantage of. When a female social worker showed up at the Tozier residence, they had taken a single look at the scene before her and immediately laughed and mumbled something about a basketcase mother before apologizing to the adults and leaving. 

It was not hard to figure out who had reported them. They had seen a pair of beady eyes glaring at them whilst walking with a small boy in a polo shirt… with… a child leash? Additionally, she made it known days later when Maggie was pushing Richie in the cart at the grocery store. Maggie had passed the produce section and Sonia, with her son also in a cart, still wearing one of those ridiculous child leashes, had given a dirty glare into Maggie’s eyes before saying, “I’m surprised you  _ still  _ have that boy.”

“Sonia, I think you need to focus on your own son and not everyone else's.” Maggie had dismissed, not in the mood to give into whatever nonsense this woman wanted to stir up.

“I just can’t believe they really think he’s safe around you.”

“Hi!” Richie squeaked out at the small boy in Sonia’s cart. 

The other boy immediately lit up, a small smile upon his face, opening his mouth to greet Richie. Before he could get a single word out, Sonia immediately pushed the cart as far away from the Toziers as quickly as she could. 

Richie’s face had immediately fallen, and he glanced up at his mother. “She’s a meanie. I just wanted to say hi.”

“I know, baby. She  _ is  _ a meanie.”

Sonia was nothing but a bully in Maggie’s opinion. She could not help but pity the woman, seeing as her aggressive nature had only increased with her husband’s passing. However, this was not a pass by any means to be such “a condecesing, no-good bitch that doesn’t even floss well.” Went’s words. Not hers. 

“For someone that preaches health the way she does, her dental hygiene is absolute garbage and it’s because the fluoride-based toothpastes I’ve been suggesting are a carcinogen or something. If she still has  _ all  _ her teeth in her stupid head by her 40s, I will let the American Dental Association revoke my license.” Went had huffed aggressively, slumping against the couch. “Nine out of ten dentists recommend fluoride toothpastes for a  _ fucking  _ reason.”

Bullies like Sonia are a large reason as to why Maggie genuinely feared sending Richie off to kindergarten. Richie was a bespeckled kid with a motormouth and a wild intellect that he was not afraid to show off. This made him a likely target for the less than pleasant kids that Maggie discovered came with the territory of  _ any _ small town. This already made him a prime target among his cousins and had him crying after every encounter with them. 

The visit after Richie had gotten his glasses had been an absolute hellhole for Richie to endure. The minute Maggie had to leave her Richie to help set up for her mother’s birthday, he was bombarded with a wide array of nasty insults regarding his new accessory. He had simply stared at his feet until they snatched them right off his face and made him near-blindly chase them around the house as they taunted him by calling him “ugly” and “nerdy.” From the kitchen, Maggie and Went had heard the commotion and just as they were about to tend to their son, they had discovered that Richie was more than familiar with the swear words they would occasionally drop whilst frustrated and angry. He had tripped over his own two feet which elicited cruel laughs from his older cousins. He then sat himself up, screaming a stream of swears that made no sense in their execution… but sometimes “Dumb bitch,” “Jackass,” and “Motherfucker” were the  _ only _ words that truly conveyed one’s most intense feelings. 

Of course, they had informed him that those were “no-no words,” but had removed him from the situation and despite Maggie’s mother insisting that he should try to interact with his cousins, they kept him in the kitchen with them. Later, they had allowed him to cry in Maggie’s arms, profusely apologizing for saying bad words and explaining to them what had happened in between small sniffles. They had reassured him that they weren’t mad at him (and did not tell him that they laughed at his use of the word motherfucker) and that they knew his feelings were hurt and they were sorry they had let grandma talk them into leaving him alone with them for even a second. Maggie decided that was the last straw and had not allowed Richie to be alone with his cousins since that visit. They still managed to whisper teasing words into his ear in passing. That of course still had him distraught after each family get-together. 

It was clear that Richie was a sensitive child. But that’s how Maggie  _ wanted _ him to be. She didn’t want him to drop the moment someone gave him a dirty look, but she wanted him to know it was okay to have feelings. This sensitivity made him empathetic and in tune to the emotions of others. Stan, much to the confusion of Andrea and Donald, occasionally fell into random bouts of sadness that were not normal for a child so young, and Richie always sensed when this dark weight settled upon Stan’s shoulders and always found a way to pull his friends from his little pit. 

However, this quality in Richie could be his downfall when it came to handling the less than pleasant children Derry Elementary had to offer. She worried with every fibre of her being that her son would come home crying and not wanting to go back to school. She was already convinced that she was a poor mom (and Went had strongly disagreed with this and informed her how wrong she was) when she had not once, but multiple times, allowed her son to be alone with the spawns of satan herself-- his shithead cousins. She would want to yank Richie out of school and protect him Sonia-style from the nastiness in the world… but the logical part of her brain would tell her not to do that and to keep him in school. What would be the result of keeping him around mean kids, though? A depressed child that had no friends? An insane child that tortured animals for fun (Maggie could swear she saw the Hocksetter boy attacking a poor stray cat with firecracker after the Fourth of July)? A child full of anger and disdain for the world that would ultimately grow to be a socially inept hitman, that she still thought was the cutest baby in the world?

According to Went, the worst that could happen if their son was subject to nasty teasing was that he  _ did  _ become depressed and they would get him therapy or ice cream. Richie wasn’t exactly a difficult child to make happy. Overall, Went did not think any of this was going to be as much of an issue as she thought.

“Richie has more of a backbone than you think.” Went had reassured her the night after they had picked up some of the basic school supplies they knew Richie would be needing. “He’s sensitive… but he’s going to be exposed to so many more enjoyable experiences in school than negative ones. He’ll be fine.”

Maggie really wanted to believe that. She wanted to have faith in her son but she saw the way his face dropped anytime his feelings were hurt and she did not want that to happen where she could not immediately protect him and cuss out a mother or a child if she had to. She knew, deep down, that he was braver than she knew, or even he knew, but as a mother, she just wanted him shielded from the nastiness the world unfortunately held. She wouldn’t let her own fears hold him back, but she genuinely wished there was some clear indication that her son was fully ready to take on the daunting task of kindergarten. She genuinely felt like she was going insane and being a bad mother for holding so much negativity in the pit of her stomach.

She felt less manic and less Sonia-like when she and Andrea arranged to get together before the open-house that would be held at the kindergarten that night. It was a night where parents could hand in any final medical forms, give children and parents a detailed tour of the school, tell children what teacher they would have, and inform parents of any additional school supplies their child’s teacher might want them to specifically get. Some teachers requested the students get flower stickers, while others suggested frog stickers. 

“Oh, you’re not alone here, Maggie.” Andrea says, as she organizes Stanley’s vaccination records. “I’ve been on the verge of just letting him be held back just  _ one  _ more year so I can keep him home.”

“Oh, I have too. But at Richie’s physical, they asked if I thought he should skip a grade… so that’s out of the question.” Maggie sighs. “Plus, I’m working part-time as a receptionist for Went.” 

Given that Maggie was going to be partially empty-nested with Richie at school seven hours a day, Went suggested she put her Human Resources degree to some use and replace the retiring receptionist that worked Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Maggie initially questioned this but decided it would be a good idea so she wouldn’t go stir-crazy at the house… and so they might have a little more spending money. Luckily, the hours they had already planned allowed her to be home to drive Richie to school and to pick him up afterward. They did not live far from the school, but Richie had yet to get a hang of riding his bike and plus, Maggie and Went agreed that he should not ride his bike to school until he was at least in his double-digits. 

“I just get scared because they’re both so sweet and innocent… I don’t want one of the older kids to wreck that for them…” Andrea sighs. 

“I really hope they’re in the same class… Richie doesn’t have any other friends besides Stan.”

“Stan has a few at the synagogue but most of them are either a year ahead of him or they’re going to that one private school with a tuition higher than our mortgage.”

Maggie laughs at that. “Rich folks don’t gotta worry about our redneck kids corrupting them.”

Once they finally drive to the school together in the Tozier’s car, Richie and Stan secured in the back, the two mothers discover their boys are  _ not  _ in the same class together. 

“Oh shit.” Maggie mumbles softly enough so no impressionable ears can hear her as she reads Richie’s name under Mrs. Harris’s kindergarten class and Stan’s under Ms. Oney’s. 

“Oh no.” Andrea says, her shoulders slumping. They both glance at their two boys, too short to read the listings.

“Are we together?” Stan asks.

“Unfortunately, no.” Andrea answers. Stan and Richie look at each other, their faces clearly unhappy with this news.

“ _ But,”  _ Maggie says, attempting to be the optimist for the first time since accepting that her Richie was a big ol’ kindergarten bound boy, “You will see each other during lunchtimes and at recess!”

“And, you’re going to make  _ new  _ friends in your class.”

Richie immediately looks even more distressed at this news, quickly grabbing Stan’s hand. “Will I not be Stan’s best friend anymore?!”

“Yeah! I don’t wanna have a new best friend! Richie is  _ my  _ best friend!”

“No, no!” Andrea reassures, smiling at their genuine bond. “You can have more than one best friend! That doesn’t mean you two won’t still be best friends.”

Richie looks at Stan. “Okay, but you’re staying my  _ bestest  _ best friend.” He holds his pinky up to Stan’s face. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Stan wraps his pinky around Richie’s. “Plus, no one’s gonna know to beep you like me.”

xXx

**September 1981**

The last week of summer vacation wraps up quicker than Maggie had hoped. Richie had been fully prepared for kindergarten since the afternoon following open-house. He was well-equipped with a sheet of frog-stickers, safety scissors, crayons, pencils, and two composition books. All of this was well-organized into a red Jansport backpack that Richie had selected himself. The backpack hilariously dwarfed Richie’s slight frame, seeing as most backpack companies failed to create bags suited for children that were not middle-school aged. Maggie was certain that she could stuff Richie into the bag and still have some spare room. 

Maggie’s nerves were fraying at the edges as she woke Richie up that morning. He had blinked at her blearily before she placed his glasses upon his tired face. He then stumbled toward the bathroom with her so they could make his hair mildly presentable and brush his teeth with Went-approved toothpaste and of course, floss. He was still barely coherent as she helped dress him into a striped shirt and a pair of shorts that he could uneasily unbutton himself if he were to need to use the restroom. She carried him downstairs, setting him up with a bowl of cereal and popped a few aspirin for herself and decided that coffee was  _ not  _ the way to go given that she was already buzzing with anxiety.

Richie slowly awoke with each spoonful of cereal and looked at his mother, brows furrowing together. “Mama, do you think Stan and I will make friends together?”

“Of course, sweetie.” She answers, still trying to convince herself of this.

“I hope my new friends like Stan and his like me!” He says, smiling widely at her. “Then we will have enough people for a  _ real  _ hide-and-seek game! S’not as fun with just two of us!”

Maggie smiles at that. “You’ll have to make sure to find out how close they live to us so we can arrange something… and  _ remember _ their names, Richie.”

“I know.” he says, cheeks blushing red. It had taken two months for Stan’s name to stick permanently in his head… not that she would ever tell Andrea that. Andrea had found it endearing when Richie would refer to Stan as nothing except “Best Friend” when greeting him.

After breakfast, she has him get on his sandals while she packs his lunch. Went had left a little note on the counter for her to add as he had to leave early that day so she slides that in along with her own that reads: 

**Mama loves you, Richie! Have a great first day! :)**

She knows that is something she and Went will want to do through his entire school experience… but will inevitably hear pre-teen Richie complain about, saying that it’s embarrassing and they need to stop. Will they? Definitely not. She and Went, while loving and doting parents, also thrive on embarrassing their Richie as much as humanly possible. 

She writes his name across the brown paper bag and meets him by the front door where he is bouncing elatedly, slightly weighed down by the backpack. She feels a slight weight lift off her shoulders. Richie, who has always expressed a slight hesitancy for new experiences, appears more confident than she does at going to school for the very first time. He is absolutely beaming and his body is literally vibrating with excitement.

“Nervous?”

“Uh-uh!” He shakes his head, taking the bag from her hands. “I get to learn new stuff and play on the playground and eat lunch with Stan.”

“You do that almost everyday though!” she laughs.

“Yeah! But it’s in a  _ big  _ ‘feteria!” 

“Oh wow! That  _ is  _ exciting!”

“Let's go!” Richie squeals, clumsily turning the knob and nearly tripping over the porch steps. Wouldn’t that be a way to start school? Knocking out his teeth by falling onto the sidewalk. 

She helps get him settled into the backseat, her anxieties slowly diminishing as she begins the drive toward the school. She pulls up to the front entrance parking lot. As she gets out, she sees an abundance of tearful parents and some sobbing children begging their parents not to leave them. Some are going so far as to cling desperately to their parent’s legs, their wails echoing through the warm morning air. She cannot help but feel a sense of pride for her Richie as he is truly thrilled for his first day.

She eases him out of the backseat, straightens his shirt, which she knows will be twisted and wrinkled once he comes home and fixes his hair that is growing more curly with the humidity. The parents were told that they were permitted to walk their children to their class for the first few days and she was definitely going to take advantage of that for days one and two… but after that, if he felt comfortable (which she knew he would… hell she was certain he would be okay with it today), she would let him go all by himself. Once that day arrived, she would simply pull by the front curb, let him hop out, and drive either to work or back home. 

“Smile, baby.” She instructs, getting the camera out and stepping back to get a good view of him and the school. He gives a large grin, eyes squinting shut at the force and she snaps a picture, knowing it’ll be somewhat overexposed given that the sun is already sitting high and bright in the sky. She takes the image once it slips out and sets it upside down on her dash for her to admire upon her return. 

“Let's go!” Richie squeals, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the entrance. 

She laughs, allowing herself to be guided by her son. They happen to see a teary-eyed Andrea leaving Ms. Oney’s class. Maggie instantly hugs the woman and reassures her that all will be okay and that they will get together later today and mourn their boy’s babyhood officially coming to an end.

As Maggie and Richie make their way toward Mrs. Harris’s class, they are met with an unexpected sight: Sonia Kaspbrak muttering bitterly in front of her son. She is tucking a variety (and an excessive amount) of pill bottles and first-aid supplies into a fanny-pack that is tightly strapped across the boy’s waist. 

“I don’t know what they mean by needing  _ certification. I  _ went to school, Eddie.” She looks at her son, who is nodding in agreement. “ _ Your  _ mommy is  _ very _ smart. I don’t need some stupid paper to prove that I am capable of teaching my baby boy.” She releases an angry huff as she pulls out some antibacterial wipes and begins wiping them up and down his arms and legs. “They’re just forcing you to be around a bunch of dirty and sick kids. I won’t be surprised if you have pneumonia within the first month!”

“I’ll wash my hands, ma.” The boy's voice is surprisingly confident to Maggie’s ears. She had expected a timid and shy boy; he is anything but. He seems to be in agreement with his mother in regards to the threat of impending germs but he seems to hold a sense of assertiveness that her Richie has yet to develop. 

“ _ That  _ won’t be enough… but hopefully it protects you for the time being.” She points to her cheek where the boy quickly pecks before stepping away, clearly ready to head into his class despite his mother’s obvious reluctance. “Have a good day, baby and don’t be afraid to go to the nurse if you need  _ anything.  _ Also, don’t forget to take your medication. They wanted me to file it with the office, but I don’t trust them to give it to you on time, so make sure to listen to your watch.”

He nods hurriedly. “Okay. I love you, ma.” He turns away, and walks right into Mrs. Harris’s room. Turns out she will be linked to Sonia somehow. They’ll most likely be stuck having to help with a field trip together or something like that once or twice. 

Sonia turns around, making eye contact with Maggie, scowling. “Is  _ he  _ even vaccinated?”

“No, Sonia. A public school with a vaccination requirement let me enroll my unvaccianted son.” 

She opens her mouth to say something else, but Maggie gives Sonia a nice view of her ass as she squats to Richie’s level. He’s beaming at her. “Now, you be good, okay? Don’t be afraid to ask questions and just… just have fun, okay?”

“I will, mama!” He says, throwing himself into her chest, wrapping his arms around her neck into a tight hug. God, she feels like she’s going to end up like one of those parents crying in the parking lot. “I love you and  _ you  _ have fun at work!” 

She laughs wetly. “I will baby.” She gives him a soft kiss on the forehead, before standing back up. “Love you.”

“I love you too! Bye bye!” and with that, he darts into his classroom and toward a seat, clearly marked: Richard Tozier. 

She smiles to herself, making her way back to the car. She sits herself in the driver seat, using both hands to wipe at her eyes. She grabs the picture she had left to develop and smiles at her happy boy. Maggie knows Richie is going to be okay. The worries that had settled in her chest are evaporating and a surge of confidence in her boy’s own abilities rush through her veins. She knows Richie can take on kindergarten successfully. 

Maggie starts the ignition of her car, turning her back to make sure she isn’t about to hit any small children. Something in the backseat catches her eye. Richie has forgotten his lunch. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... Eddie becomes an actual character next chapter???? Not just a random reference thrown in for shits and giggles?
> 
> Also, listen to "Dear Friend," by Dayglow... it sounds like Richie @Eddie. Tell me otherwise. You can't. I won't listen. 
> 
> Also, also, as the story progresses we gonna get into more concise chapters and more one-shot style moments that are just plain silly or stupid because that's my brand and I gotta get out of this mindset that every chapter has to be at least 4k long. I'm in college. I should be doing my work. I am not. I have a 9am. It's 2am. I have an essay due at noon. Have I started? No. 
> 
> Give me validation. Or roast me. Or venmo me because I have $12 to my name.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first chapter I didn't write all in one sitting? Normally, I sit in front of my computer for about 2-4 hours and bust a whole ass chapter out... this time I went to Target in between writing and also went to bed? Hello? Idk that's probably why this one is HELLA choppy. But like... also? I am still not in tune with my writing ability. I am TRYING. I am just a person (barely). 
> 
> Am I adding lots of MaggieWent moments and snippets of their history because I'm going to let the relationship be mirrored in future Reddie scenes bc MaggieWent screams healthy marriage and I want the parents to be like oh ya these babies GONNA GET MOTHER FUCKING MARRIED... except no because Richie is gonna be SO FAR in the closet that he's in fucking Narnia.
> 
> idk that's a secret i'll never tell!!!! 
> 
> am i also adding these moments bc I am incompetent as a writer and cant write a cohesive piece to save my life and am probably irritating everyone with my cheesy bullshit?
> 
> that is not a secret. it is obvious. I am. :)
> 
> does anyone even read these notes? If you do, fuckin comment and tell me what your favorite song is atm because I need new jams bc I have been on a kick of listening to the same 10 songs off my playlist of 1200 songs. Mine is currently Affection by Between Friends. Also, Medicine by Daughter? That's an Eddie song. Don't question it. Just listen and get emotional. :)

Maggie knew she was going to have to start putting up with Sonia Kaspbrak; not because of Richie’s affinity for her son, but for Eddie’s sake and his overall well-being. 

**September 1981**

After dropping Richie’s lunch off at the front office-- she could not bring herself to go back down the kindergarten hallway without making an emotional scene-- she made her way to Went’s practice where she fulfilled the duties of a dental receptionist. She could not help but be thankful that her husband was a dentist as she witnessed how children that did not come from families of dentistry reacted by the simple act of sitting in the waiting room that was decorated with a variety of tooth-themed posters and sculptures. Most of them were crying hysterically, clinging to their mothers with an expression one would only expect to see prior to a murder or gruesome bear mauling. Richie, having grown up around his father’s work never flinched at the sight of his father’s tools. He didn’t complain during X-rays, the scraping of his teeth, or flossing. The other benefit of having a father as a dentist is that Richie, despite being five, was incredibly anal about dental hygiene and that reassured Maggie that he would never have to endure what was apparently the worst form of torture (or at least that’s what the children at Went’s office semed to think), which was having a cavity filled. 

She felt a little bad for the children that were throwing a fit over a simple cleaning. She felt even worse for their mothers who had looks of absolute humiliation written on their faces. She attempted offering a form of conciliation in the form of stickers to some of the children but only heard earth-shattering shrieks as a result. The people she felt the worst for, however, were the hygienists that had to clean the teeth which frequently bit down on their gentle fingers, and her husband that had informed her that even if they wanted another kid, he most likely would be unable to deliver his portion given that he had been kicked in certain areas far too frequently since opening his practice. 

Her tasks were certainly the easiest. All she had to do was answer phone calls, explain why it was simply impossible to schedule someone in the next five minutes for a visit that was not an emergency, and accept intense glares from parents as they examined the amount they would still have to pay even after their insurance claims went through. She actually did not mind sitting there and occasionally getting to sneak a kiss from Went when he would walk a family out that he may have particularly enjoyed working with or a family that had zero comprehension as to the significance of basic dental hygiene and needed to return as soon as possible for tooth extractions, root canals, oral surgeries, etc. and what all of that would entail… or he simply was making an excuse to “examine files” behind the front desk just so he could see his beloved wife. 

Once lunch hour rolled around, and the last morning client, accompanied by a spouse, walked out with a mouth full of bloody gauze, all employees filtered out to go on their own lunch expeditions. Maggie and Went elected to stay alone at the practice, sitting in Went’s office that was isolated toward the back of the building. It was modestly decorated and featured his degrees proudly framed over his desk. On his desk, however, was an abundance of framed family photos. As Maggie sat in a chair across from him, she could not help but go through the pictures he had selected to frame in his private office. Went had blushed slightly in embarrassment, halfheartedly asking her not to as he bit into the sandwich she had made him the night prior. As he expected, she ignored him and moved to sit on the corner of his desk, occasionally popping a cashew into her mouth, admiring their pictures. 

Went had one of the two of them at their college graduation: Went had his mouth open, mid-sentence while Maggie held her cap upward, clearly about to smack him with it at some awful joke he was making. There was a blurry shot on their wedding day of the two of them dancing. They were clearly intoxicated at that point given Went’s flushed cheeks and Maggie’s bare feet. There was a (in her opinion) unflattering shot of her heavily pregnant, painting Richie’s nursery in nothing except an extremely large t-shirt and socks. Maggie had taken that one and put it in his desk drawer, insisting that it was humiliating (Went would repeatedly take it out on her days off and let her repeat the task of hiding it every single day she came in). There was one a nurse had taken of the two of them in the hospital the day Richie was born, holding him up in all his squishy-faced glory. 

“He was _so_ little.”

“You didn’t think so that day.” Went says, his mouth full. “Now, stop looking through everything.”

“Why? You got one of a secret girlfriend?”

“You got me. I’m dating my sixty-year-old hygienist, Barb.” Went sighs, putting his hands up in defense. “She really just gets me heated, Mags.”

“You just hate admitting that you’re a little sap.”

“I plead the fifth.” Went grumbles, sneaking some of Maggie’s cashews.

She picks up another one of Went holding a two-year-old Richie on his shoulders. Richie is gripping his hair in between his fists and both of her boys are wearing the same exact facial expression-- eyes comically wide and mouths pursed into a soft o. 

“He is literally your clone.” Maggie laughs. “ _I_ did all the heavy lifting and of course, you cannot see my contribution at all.”

“I don’t know. I thought the same thing for a while… but the other day, when I was getting that splinter out of his finger, I looked at him and thought, Richie would make a pretty girl.”

“Shut up, Went.” Maggie says, smacking him. “He just needs a haircut.”

“No. He looks more like you in the top half of his face, I think.” Went gestures to her eyes and cheekbones. He cocks his head slightly. “Don’t cut it. I like his hair curly--like yours.” 

“I had no plans of cutting it. Trust me.” She thinks for a minute. “You really think so?”

“Oh yeah. He’s actually a really nice blend of the two of us.” Went leans back in his seat, stretching his arms around his head. “He already has your smarts and my charming sense of humor.”

“If that’s the case, he’s not going to make any friends besides Stan, is he?” She laughs, setting the picture back on his desk before moving around to look at the rest of the snapshots of their life together that Went liked enough to have on his desk at all times. 

“Oh shush. I had plenty of friends.”

“Fraternity brothers that were part of a frat you paid into do not count.”

“ _You’re_ my friend.” Went says, poking her in the side with a pen.

“I’m your wife.”

“And my best friend.” Went declares. “Richie’s future wife better be his best friend too or he will not be nearly as happy as I am with you.”

“You’re such a fucking cheeseball.” Maggie laughs, sitting herself on his lap.

“What? Am I not _your_ best friend?” 

“I didn’t think that was an option, to be honest.” Maggie says with a shrug, laying her head on his shoulder. “But I guess so. Can we make friendship bracelets?”

“Yeah. There’s a couple hundred dollar one on your finger.” Went laughs, dropping his chin into her hair. 

She smacks him playfully on his arm. “I love you.”

“Wow, we’re really indulging the office sex fantasy, huh?” He flashes her a playful grin, waggling his eyebrows.

“No. Not today.” She says, smacking him again. “ I cried over our son going to kindergarten at least four times today.”

“I was gonna say, how did that all go?”

“It went surprisingly well… all things considered.” She sighs. “He was really excited and I stopped panicking after a while. I think he’s going to be just fine.”

“Wow, I wonder who said that all along.”

“You really never want to have office sex, do you?” She thinks for a second. “Or any sex ever again.”

“Wow, my beautiful wife, I am so happy that our son will be okay. I love you and you are _so_ pretty.” He flutters his unfairly long eyelashes at her.

“Fine.”

“I’m assuming you got a good picture of him that I can make a copy of and add to my shrine of evidence that I am indeed a sentimental father that cries at lunch when he’s alone over his beautiful wife and dork of a son.” Went says, moving his fingers through her hair.

“You’re the dork in this family.” She snorts. “And yes. It’ll be perfect for your office. It’s in the car… I’ll show it to you at home.” She rests her head against his neck. “I’m not moving until we hear your secret lover, Barbara come back.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out about it this way.”

“I understand.” Maggie laughs. “Sonia Kaspbrak’s boy is in Richie’s class.”

“Eddie?”

“I don’t know his name. If I make eye contact with her son, I’m pretty sure I am violating the restraining order she probably has against me.”

“It’s Eddie.” Went states with a nod. “I’m his dentist too. He’s a sweet kid.”

“I thought so too.” Maggie says.

“She told me she was homeschooling him when I saw them last month.” Went laughs. “Literally, as I was holding a drill to take care of her cavities, she informed me that I was a bad parent for letting Richie go to public school.”

“Well, she’s pretty livid that she has to send Eddie to one because she was informed that she doesn’t have the credentials to teach him.”

“Does she have the credentials to be a mother?” 

“She thinks so.” Maggie laughs. “I feel bad for the kid. She was stuffing this dorky little fanny pack she definitely forced on him with a bunch of pills and is definitely setting him up to think his shadow has leprosy or something.”

“Poor kid. Maybe Richie will be a good influence on him.”

“I doubt that.” Maggie says. “Richie wouldn’t know how to interact with someone that incredibly high-maintenance.” 

“You’re right.” Went sighs. “Plus, I’m sure Sonia has already informed him of what an awful home Richie comes from.”

“Honestly, we’re just the worst parents ever.” Maggie chuckles, looking up at him.

“Absolutely.” He kisses the top of her head. “We shouldn’t get too cozy. Everyone else will be back in the next half hour.”

“Don’t act so confident.” Maggie says, turning around to face him.

“So… office sex _is_ on the table?”

xXx

Maggie’s shift ends as a kind-faced, elderly woman comes in around two to bump her out. She peered into one of the rooms where Went was about to start a root canal and waved him goodbye.

“Goodbye, Dr. Tozier.” She says, waving her fingers at him.

“Have a wonderful day Ms. Maggie.” he chuckles, obviously attempting to maintain the aura of a “professional work environment” in front of his client. “Have a great rest of your day.”

“You too!” Maggie laughs, turning to let him torment the man in the chair. 

She grabs her purse and waves goodbye to her bump-out as she is finally relieved of the sounds of crying kids and dental drills. She seats herself in the car, smiling at the picture of Richie that still sits upon her dashboard. School does not let out for another hour, so she decided to go to the grocery store to load up on anything they may need for the remainder of the week. She figures she should get Richie some treats to add into his lunch since today the only “dessert” she could add had been a small bag of lucky charms. Of course, she knew that was more than okay for Richie, but she wanted to try and spice it up with homemade rice krispy bars, jello and vanilla snack packs. All things that would make Sonia Kaspbrak report her, yet again, to CPS. 

Once she purchased enough groceries to cover her and her family for the week, she loaded her car, and made her way toward the elementary school. School had officially ended about ten minutes ago, so she knew her son was probably waiting for her wherever all the other non-bus kids awaited their parents. She decided her best bet was to simply go wherever she saw a crowd of kids hanging about and she was likely to see, or most likely _hear,_ her Richie.

She pulled up into the parking lot, and made her way toward the playground where she saw some older kids hanging out on some benches and younger children running on the equipment while others ran through grass and mulch. She approached the fence and scanned the area for her son and she was met with an unexpected sight.

Richie, with a dandelion tucked into his fluffy curls, was laughing alongside not only Stanley, but the Denborough’s boy and Sonia’s son. The four of them were laying in the grass, giggling as they blew dandelion fuzz into each other’s faces. She could not help but smile softly at the sight. As expected, Richie’s clothes were now a wrinkled and grass stained mess and his hair had grown in volume with the September humidity. He was clearly enthralled with the three boys before him and she felt that he had officially found two additional friends to create a genuine friend group with his forever friend. 

She leaned against the fence, not wanting to disturb their fun. She waited for Richie’s inevitable shift of focus away from his friends before she would wave at him. As expected, a loud car piqued her son’s interest and he whipped his head in her direction, knocking the weed out of his hair. He immediately saw his mother’s face and beamed excitedly at her. Before he could stand up, Eddie grabbed her son’s hand and yelled, “wait!”

Richie turned his back toward her, looking up at Eddie as the boy stood over her son. He picked up the dandelion that had fallen with the force of Richie’s turn and placed it back in her son’s hair. He said something to her son that she could not hear, but it was enough to warrant her son wrapping his arms around the boy in a hug. He did not hug the other boys around him (not even Stan) before picking up his backpack and sprinting over toward her. _That_ was something that interested her. 

“Mama!” Richie squealed as he ran outside the fence and toward her legs. He came full force at her, and she was ready, allowing him to thrust himself into her open arms and picking him up with a slight grunt. She desperately wanted him to stop growing. 

“Hi baby!” she laughs. “Did you have a good day?”

“The best!” he says, bouncing in her arms. He points over to the trio of boys that are engaged in the dandelion blowing once more, “Me and Stan made new friends!”

“Really! That’s great!” Maggie laughs, shifting him onto her hip, heading toward the car. “Did you get your lunch from the office?”

“Yeah! Eddie walked with me ‘cause we hafta have a buddy with us when we go and he’s my buddy!” 

“Really? Eddie’s the one who gave you the dandelion, right?”

“Yeah! He said it’s fluffy like my hair.” At that point, the weed was nearly bald and only held onto a few fuzzy seedlings, but clearly her son was enamored with the silly thing. “Oh! I ‘membered my friends' names this time!”

“Who else did you meet?”

“Just Eddie and William, but he likes Bill which makes no sense ‘cause there’s no B in his name but he said it’s what his mommy and daddy call him so I guess it’s okay.” Richie says as she straps him into the back of the car. “They live super close to us and I want ‘em to play with me and Stan at home!”

“Well, we’ll have to set something up with their parents.” Maggie suggests.

“Can we after school soon!”

“Maybe this Friday if their parents are okay with it.” Maggie internally cringes at this, knowing that Sonia absolutely despises her and that the Denborough family is under the impression that she and Andrea are no-good alcoholics. 

“Okay! I’ll tell Eddie and Bill and Stan tomorrow.” Richie thinks for a moment. “I can tell Stan today. I _always_ see him!” 

“That you do, baby!” She smiles. “Did you do anything special today?”

“Uh-huh! We got to sit on a cool rug and say our names and what our favorite color was and our favorite thing we liked doing. I said I’m Richie and that I liked red and playing with my mommy, daddy, and Stan!” Richie wiggles in the back at that. “Then we had to try and know _everyone’s_ name. I wasn’t good at that… but I did know Eddie’s! Then we got to have lunch and play outside. That’s where I met Bill! He’s in Stan’s class and Bill talks a little funny but he’s real smart and likes makin’ up stories so he made us a pirate story to play!”

“Wow!” Maggie laughs. “That sounds like a _lot_ of fun for one day!”

“Yeah! I liked it a lot, mama! I could stay there _forever!”_ Richie thinks for a second, his face falling slightly at this idea. “But only if you and daddy came too. I’d miss you too much!”

“Did you miss us today?”

Richie looks down at his feet, “Yeah. I got kinda sad before lunch and my tummy got all kinda achy and I wanted to cry but Eddie made me feel lots better.” He looks back up toward the rear view mirror where he is able to catch her eyes, “Eddie was real nice and told me ‘bout his favorite comic books. He can’t read ‘em too well though. He just likes the pictures. I told him I’d teach him!” 

“It sounds like Eddie is a super special friend.”

“I like him lots, mama. He made today the best!” Richie smiles. “Now I have _three_ best friends!” 

“Today sounds like it was super exciting. I bet you’re a little tuckered out, huh?” She had not gotten out of the habit of letting Richie nap every afternoon as whenever she tried to wean him off of them, he always ended up crashing at six and waking her and Went up at the ass crack of dawn. She knew that today was significantly more stimulating than his usual days at home and his brain was probably on the verge of shutting down for the next two hours. 

“Nuh-uh! I wanna play with Stan when I get home!” Richie informs her.

Richie is asleep by the time Maggie pulls up to the driveway.

xXx

As Richie has left his toddler years, he has become a significantly lighter sleeper. Because of this, Maggie no longer sets him up to nap on the couch and instead has to carefully carry her son up the stairs and into his bedroom. She carefully lays him on top of the starry covers of his twin bed and drapes his favorite throw over his still form. She then moves his glasses off of his face, demagnifying his closed eyes, and setting them in the same spot they’ve always put them so that when he blindly reaches for them upon waking, the struggle will be minimal. She notices the small dandelion is still tucked behind his ear, and she pulls the nearly-bald thing out and places it in his “special box,” which is filled with a plethora of momentos and trinkets, ranging from movie tickets to seashells, that he’s deemed as worthy of keeping for the “restest of his life!”

She leaves the door slightly ajar, and begins bringing in the groceries from her earlier trip. Conveniently, as she places the last of the cereal in its proper place, the phone begins to ring. She picks it up, sitting herself up on the counter, twiddling with a loose curl around her finger like a flirty teenager gossiping about her crush. 

“Hello?”

“Hi Maggie!” Andrea chirps back. 

“Hey Andrea! How are you doing?”

“I’m good, how was the first day working with Went?”

“Oh pretty easy.” She laughs a little, cheeks reddening as her brain conjures up images of her work day.

“I miss being in my 20s for _that_ reason.” Andrea contemplates for a second. “Also can’t really get anything to happen when my husband is at work… as a Rabbi. That’s _definitely_ sacreligious.”

“How can you tell?”

“Your voice is very mellow, which I wouldn’t expect seeing as our babies just had their first day.” Andrea laughs sweetly, “How's little Richie doing? Stan said they both made new friends together.”

“He’s great! He’s currently knocked out upstairs. You know how _exhausting_ kindergarten can be.”

“Oh it’s truly the worst. Stan immediately went upstairs when we got in.”

Maggie chuckles softly, “Yeah, Richie said they met the Kaspbrak and Denborough boy.”

“Actually, you’ll be happy to hear that I spoke to Sharon Denborough while picking up Stan today. I have officially cleared our names and she is now fully aware that Sonia is an overprotective nut… it also helped that she witnessed her throwing a fit about little Eddie being covered in dandelion seeds.” Maggie can literally hear Andrea’s eyeroll over the camera. “She thought he was going to go into anaphylactic shock or something when he was _clearly_ fine.”

“I can’t say that’s surprising in the slightest.” Maggie hops off the counter, allowing the cord to stretch as she walks to the fridge and takes out a package of chicken to thaw out. “What did you tell her?”

“The truth. I told her that you and I are not bad mothers and not alcoholics and that our boys are incredibly sweet and that we should set something up for the four of them.” Andrea laughs a little. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Sharon to one of our Wine Nights.”

“Oh, not at all! Richie actually wanted to have everyone over here this Friday. Does that mean we have to invite Sonia over?” 

“I don’t think so. We don’t _have_ to tell her that it’s a playdate with the boys and the moms.”

“This feels _so_ middle school.” Maggie laughs. “But, I’m sure it’ll be a blessing that she even lets her son come over here. I really hope she does. Richie really likes Eddie.”

“That’s what Stan said too. Eddie seems like a super fun kid. A little high strung, yes, but that’s definitely due to who he unfortunately has for a mother.”

“You’re telling me. She cannot be giving that kid a healthy view on the world with her incessant ramblings that everything is going to make everyone sick or kill you.” Maggie scoffs. 

“We’ve been worried about our boys needing a good peer influence… I think they’re going to be the good influence.” Sharon says, laughing. 

“Who would’ve thought that sassy little Stan and motormouth Richie would be the best influences on Sonia’s boy?” Maggie giggles.

“Not me. So, do you still wanna have the boys together for a bit?” 

“I think so. I don’t plan on letting Richie nap past five and we aren’t having dinner till at least seven.” Maggie thinks for a second. “Chicken’s Kosher, right? Why don’t you guys just eat with us?”

“That sounds great to me and I know the guys and boys will be more than happy about that news.” 

“Mama, please be quiet. I had a _long_ day.” Maggie can hear Stan say distantly in the background. She has to hide her mouth behind her hand to suppress a fit of laughter that will definitely wake Richie up and throw him into a grouchy mood. 

“Of course, baby. Go back to sleep.” Andrea snorts. “Honestly, that boy. Well, I better get off here before I disturb his peace again. See you around, say, 5:30?”

“Sounds great to me. Talk to you soon.” 

xXx

Went comes in close to five, as she’s in the kitchen rinsing some veggies. “Hey, hon.” He says, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. “How was lil Richie’s day?”

“Really good. He made two new friends.” She informs him.

“Oh, who?” 

“I think you should let him tell you.” Maggie laughs. “I was about to go and wake him up anyway.”

“Oookay?” Went says, clearly a little confused, making his way toward the stairs.

Maggie can already see Went’s shock at the fact that their son is not only becoming friends with the Kaspbrak boy, but that he is clearly developing a similar kinship to the boy that he shares with Stan. Or something more. Maggie can tell her son’s liking toward Eddie is more unique. In what way? That is something she will not know until their friendship evolves… if Sonia allows that to happen before she snatches Eddie out of Derry Elementary.

Maggie continues her dinner prep before she hears Richie’s groggy voice slur slightly about how cool Eddie is and how they sat next to each other at lunch and how he thinks Bill is silly for being called Bill-- essentially, an exact rerun of what Richie told her on the way home.

“Huh, so you really like Eddie, huh?” Went says, glancing at Maggie. “Eddie Kaspbrak?”

“Uh-huh! He gave me a dandelion!” He reaches into his hair, discovering the weed is missing from his hair. His blue eyes immediately go wide and he is about to exclaim his distress.

“Special box, baby.” She reassures him. “We don’t want you to lose it, huh?”

“No! Thank you, mama.” He turns back to his dad. “Eddie and Bill are my new bestest friends, too! I wanna play with ‘em after school!”

“Well, it’s up to their parents, champ. They might say n--”

“Sharon and Zack are aware of how they were misinformed.” Maggie interrupts. “Also, Sharon and Zack will come over Friday night and… well, Sonia will not be aware of this.”

“You’re still assuming she’s going to let Eddie out of her sight.”

“I’m sure Sharon can talk her into it… Andrea seems to like Sharon a lot and I trust Andrea’s judge of character.”

“Alright, but just in case, Richie, not all mommies are as cool as _yours_ and let their babies go to other houses.”

“Okay…” Richie’s lower lip sticks out slightly, his eyes dropping sadly to the floor.

“You’re really trying hard to have a repeat of today next time I’m at work, aren’t you?”

“I just want to remind you that thirty miutes wasn’t overly confident. I was being modest and you can’t pretend that isn’t true.”

“Oh, hush.”

“What?” Richie asks, suddenly confused by whatever his parents are rambling about. 

“Nothing, baby. Daddy was being silly at work today.” She reaches over and squeezes Richie’s cheek. “We will try our best to make sure you get to have _all_ your friends over, okay?”

“Really?” He bounces up, eyes wide behind his lenses.

“Yup, and Stan is coming over with his mommy and daddy for dinner, today.”

“They just need to move in already.” Went laughs, picking Richie up, and sitting him on his lap. “So what are you most excited to learn about, buddy?”

“We’re learnin’ numbers next week but I already know mine so Mrs. Harris said I might get to help other kids with their numbers. Eddie says he doesn’t know all his yet, so I’m gonna help him first.”

xXx

Friday comes quickly and Maggie is relieved at Sharon’s quick-thinking. The Denboroughs, despite previous conflicts, get along with the Toziers rather well. Bill’s mother was clearly used to Sonia’s incessant neuroticism given that their boys had been friends for a few years now. Luckily, Sonia’s persistent trepeditation to all things not related to pills and doctor’s offices, had not rubbed off on Sharon’s easygoing and relaxed personality. She informed Maggie and Andrea that if Maggie were to approach her with the suggestion of Eddie staying over for a playdate, there was essentially no way that Sonia would allow Eddie to go to the Tozier house without her supervision -- which would put a significant damper on the other parents from enjoying themselves and forming a healthy bond around their childrens’ budding friendship.

So, Sharon took it upon herself to not really ask if Eddie could accompany Bill to the Tozier residence, but inform her the night before that Eddie would indeed be attending a playdate with Bill to spend time with his classmate, Richie and Bill’s new friend, Stan. Sonia had immediately tried to imply that the Tozier and Uris families were nothing but bad news, but Sharon reassured her that she would be there to keep an eye on their boys. Miraculously, that had been enough to appease Sonia. Apparently, Sonia took a tranquilizer each evening and it was simply to get her to agree to anything which is why Sharon wisely chose to inform Sonia of these plans Thursday night. 

Maggie is off work on Fridays and has spent the day preparing a few activities for them to engage in, as well as prepare some veggies and dip and a few sweet treats for them to enjoy. Thankfully, Andrea offered to drive Stan and Richie home together and Sharon took on the responsibility of bringing Eddie and Bill over. This aid on their end, gives Maggie ample time to get her home prepped for not just two five-year-olds, but four, which she can only imagine is infinitely more destructive than the two terrors she’s used to handling with Andrea. 

Not long after school has let out, she can hear the familiar thrum of the Uris family car followed by one that has a slightly smoother engine that she can only assume belongs to the Denborough family. She makes her way outside where she is immediately crashed into by her son, bouncing excitedly on his heels at being able to see his mother and have _all_ his friends over at one time. 

“Hi sweetie.” Maggie laughs, ruffling his frizzy curls. She can only wonder how Andrea manages to keep Stan’s significantly more spiraled hair so tame in the humidity when she can barely manage to calm Richie’s loose curls. She sees the other boys, climbing out of the vehicles and heading toward the front door. Stan is completely calm seeing as the Tozier residence has become his second home. Bill seems fairly neutral seeing as he is accompanied by his mother. Eddie, however, is nibbling anxiously on his bottom lip and appears wary of approaching Maggie. Her heart immediately goes out to the boy.

“Hi Stan.” She gives her second, unofficial son a hug and kneels before the two other boys she plans on adopting as her own. “Hi Bill! Hi Eddie. I’m Richie’s mama and you can call me Mrs. Tozier or Maggie-- whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“Hi Mrs. Toz-Tozier!” Bill says as he gets a nod of reassurance from his mother. “My n-names Bill!”

Richie appears to sense Eddie’s unease and takes his hand into his own. The tension that had Eddie’s shoulders nearly touching his ears appears to melt with Richie’s touch. “Hi Mrs. Tozier. It’s nice to meet you.”

Maggie pulls herself up to her full height and leads them in whilst exchanging formalities with Sharon. Sharon is a sweet faced woman that appears closer in age to her than Andrea or Sonia. She later learns that Zack and Sharon are only two years older than she and Went which is nice to know… and only mildly satisfying that Richie has the cool, young parents. He will disagree on the “cool” part as all teens do someday-- that Maggie is certain of.

They elect to set the boys up with a few activities inside just to avoid the situation where Sonia’s prying eyes will peer into the backyard and catch her son not wearing a helmet and bubble wrap as he plays with the other boys. Also, it appears as if Derry is experiencing one last final heatwave before the fall weather that is predicted for next week is to rear it’s more-than-welcome head… so the boys offer zero complaints at the prospect of playing inside. The mothers settle themselves in the kitchen, before pouring a small amount of wine to tide themselves over until their husbands arrive to aid in the task of supervising four hyperactive boys. 

The mothers fall into an easy conversation and are able to immediately click with one another. Apologies are exchanged at their prior avoidance of one another as a result of Tyrant Sonia. They discuss normal suburban-mother things among that. They talk about their lives prior to getting married-- Sharon had apparently dated Zack’s brother before dating him which all of them find hysterical, their sex lives, and the antics of their little boys. Sharon tells them that they are currently trying for another one before she gets any closer to “the wrong side of her thirties.” Andrea tells them she had wanted to have another, but it just never happened and if it suddenly did, she would not be opposed. Maggie was blunt in saying that Richie was a fat baby and she had absolutely no desire to do _that_ again. 

Eventually, after a couple of hours of the mothers gossipping and the boys snacking and playing, Zack, Donald, and Went arrive at the Toziers at varying intervals. They are alerted to each father’s arrival given the shout of each man’s son. That was something that also tugged at Maggie’s heart when Went, the final father entered the kitchen.

“Do you think not having a parent over is rough on Eddie? Especially because he’s the only one without… you know?” Maggie asks, swishing the wine around in her glass, absently.

“Not at all.” Zack tells her, leaning against the counter. “We’ve known them since after Frank’s passing, and it doesn’t seem like Sonia acknowledges that he ever existed.”

“But isn’t that a little toxic?” Maggie presses.

“Well, yeah.” Sharon agrees. “But, I don’t think Eddie was really old enough to comprehend it anyway so he’s not aware that there was ever an adult figure in his life besides that overbearing woman.”

“He’s a real sweet kid.” Went remarks, sneaking one of the leftover baby carrots off the platter Andrea had stowed away after the boys attacked it earlier. Maggie smacks him playfully with a wooden spoon. 

“Oh he really is.” Zack agrees. 

“I should probably set them up for dinner.” Maggie announces. 

“ _You’re_ a saint Maggie.” Sharon laughs as she spies the pot of spaghetti. 

“You really want to see how messy four five-year-olds can be, huh?” Donald adds.

Maggie laughs at this, as she scoops an appropriate amount for the boys and with Went’s help, sets up a small table in the living room for them. She returns back to the kitchen to bring out the plate of cookies for dessert which she knows will be eliminated way before the boys even glance at their dinner… but the parents all figured that they might as well let the boys indulge their sweet tooths together upon their first official playdate as a quartet. 

She sets the table up, the boys’ attention immediately torn away by whatever story-based game Bill has coined up at the sight of food. They each come sprinting over, stumbling over the mess they’ve created on the floor. They quickly seat themselves, eyes wide and excited.

Eddie, however, appears somewhat timid at the food, specifically the cookies. He looks up at Maggie, his face riddled with anxiety. 

“Um, Mrs. Tozier?” His voice is soft, too low for anyone but her to hear. He is clearly embarrassed and her heart goes out to the poor boy. “I-I can’t have cookies.” He winces slightly at the sight of the other three boys grabbing at them rather than focusing on the actual entree. “My ma says they’ll rot my teeth and make me sick…”

“Oh honey…” Maggie isn’t one to go against another parents’ rules, but she knows this boy is subject to an tyrannical mother with zero knowledge of anything medical besides what she has coined up based on her own paranoia to convince her son that he is incapable of living a life without her intense supervision. She decides to pull him away from the table, which causes Richie to open his mouth in concern and Maggie puts a finger up, indicating that Eddie will be back soon and for him to focus on his other friends.

“Do I have to go home now?” Eddie asks, tears bright in his brown eyes. “I’m sorry. I shoulda said something.”

“No, no, sweetie. I know your mama doesn’t want you to have cookies… but I want to ask you something.” Eddie meets her eyes. “Dr. Tozier, Richie’s daddy, is your dentist, right?”

“Y-yeah? He’s real nice and gives me Wonder Woman stickers.”

Maggie smiles warmly at this. “Well he _is_ a dentist and knows _all_ about teeth, right?”

Eddie nods quickly. “Yeah. He says I have real good teeth… ‘cept I don’t floss enough.”

Maggie laughs at this. “Well, Richie’s daddy lets him have cookies _whenever_ he wants. We don’t let him have too many because that’s not good for _anyone…_ but a couple every now and then is fine for anyone. Richie’s teeth are just fine.”

“Richie’s got a nice smile.” Eddie agrees, nodding his head. Maggie’s heart surges slightly at the boy’s clear affection toward her son. There is certainly a special bond forming between her and Sonia’s boy.

“Yes, he does. That’s very sweet of you. You do too, sweetheart. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“But… my ma…” He looks distressed at this information that contradicts every wrong thing he’s been told; tears are starting to swim in his eyes again. “She says…”

“I think she’s a little confused, sweetie. Now, your mama gets cavities a lot, right?” Eddie nods. “Her teeth are a lot more sensitive than yours so maybe she just thinks _everyone_ can’t have sweets.”

Eddie seems to contemplate this information, rubbing at his eyes with his fists. “Maybe.” He shrugs.

“How about this?” Maggie says, placing both her hands on his shoulders. “ _This_ is _our_ little secret. Hmm? I promise I’ll never tell your mama if you ever come over and decide you want something sweet to eat… all you have to do is make sure you take good care of your teeth at home and you’ll have absolutely nothing to worry about.” 

“Will I get in trouble?”

“Nope. This stays between me,” Maggie points to herself, “and you.” She taps him gently on his freckled nose, prompting a soft giggle from the boy. “We got a deal?”

“Deal.” Eddie beams up at her. “Thank you Mrs. Tozier.”

“No problem, hon.” She takes his hand and guides him back to the table, which causes Richie’s eyes to light up immediately.

“Looky Eddie!” Richie squeals as he twirls pasta messily around a fork. “Spaghetti.” He points at his food and then back at Eddie. “Eddie Spaghetti.” This causes Bill and Stan to bust out laughing.

“Beep Beep.” Eddie giggles out, grabbing a few cookies for himself before digging into his own food. 

She smiles at the four boys, taking note of how her son really has taken an immediate liking to Eddie. She knows she is going to have to start putting up with Sonia Kaspbrak and not expect Sharon to lie their way into having Eddie at their house. Not for Richie’s sake and his obvious fondness for the boy. No. She has to put up with Sonia for Eddie’s sake. She wants their home to be a haven for the little boy. An escape from the overbearing and restrictive life that was wrongly forced upon him. Eddie is clearly a sweet boy and she could sense that he held a bit of a spitfire energy below the surface that was unable to seep through under his mother’s watchful eye. She knows Eddie is meant to be in Richie’s life and if putting up with Sonia made that possible and helped her formulate a better life for the two boys? It was completely worth it.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did ya not hate it? Idk I have zero self-esteem so I'm gonna assume you hated it and think my dog is ugly. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends!!!! Idk how to feel about this one bc I pulled an all-nighter whilst studying for an exam that is in 2 hours and took a break to bust out 8.8k words of Tozier family dynamics ft. protective Eddie!!!!
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this one!!!

Maggie knew Richie had issues focusing long before Mrs. Harris sent a letter home. 

**November 1981**

Kindergarten had been going relatively well for Richie. He was constantly bringing home stickered assignments indicating that he was doing well and each day Maggie went to pick him up from school, he had a big, goofy smile on his face… except once when she was there to pick him up from the nurse’s office because he had knocked one of his baby teeth out whilst showing off to Eddie on the monkeybars. He was apparently exceeding expectations in regards to his academics and Mrs. Harris frequently had to set Richie up with the task of helping other students with their work. Typically, Richie tried to focus his attention only on Eddie but Mrs. Harris had informed him that Eddie was on track and that he should help some of the other boys and girls. Richie had _not_ been overly thrilled about that. Oddly enough, Eddie stopped being on track with his numbers and had actually fallen behind the following week--warranting Richie’s constant attention once more. 

Additionally, Maggie was on not-awful terms with Sonia Kaspbrak. Sure, there was a bitterness and condescending tone that frequently crept into Sonia’s voice anytime she spoke with Maggie, but there was no need to lie to the woman anymore when it came to allowing Eddie to spend time with Richie. They had developed a civilized relationship of sorts and this allowed Eddie to come over to the Toziers whenever he pleased (as long as he stayed on schedule with his evening medications) which Eddie took advantage of on a near-daily basis. Maggie was always happy to have the other parents over whilst the four boys engaged in some game, ate whatever snacks she had prepared for them, or attempted to teach Eddie to ride Richie’s bike since they all knew Sonia would _never_ let her boy on top of a such a “deadly contraption that is just going to leave my Eddie-bear paralyzed for the rest of his life!” 

Unfortunately, these teachings weren’t too successful because the other three boys, despite thinking they were professional cyclists, still had an abundance of scraped knees, bruised elbows, and in Bill’s case, a sprained wrist that had just healed at the end of October, that indicated they definitely lacked the credentials to be teaching anyone to ride a bike correctly. Went promised he would take charge once the weather warmed up and when his bonus came around that Christmas; he suggested buying Eddie his own bike to keep at their house since there was no way Sonia would buy him one anytime soon and because Richie was already quite a bit taller than Eddie making it near-impossible for Eddie to comfortably ride Richie’s bike. 

Maggie had already written Eddie’s future bike into their holiday budget… which meant she would _sadly_ have to cut out buying gifts for her sister’s kids. Technically, they still could afford to buy Linda’s satanic brats something relatively nice, but Maggie figured she needed to account for the cost of a sturdy helmet and possibly invest in other neat gadgets for all of Richie’s friends and their parents since they were family to the Toziers at this point. Hell, she even decided that she would buy Sonia something-- probably antiseptic wipes or a pill organizer. Family, as Maggie had come to realize since moving to Derry, was not limited to blood nor was it obligated to account for blood. Family was who made her, Went, and Richie happy. That did not apply to Linda, whatever new boyfriend she’d keep for the next three months, and her trio of tormentors. 

Overall, it really felt as if kindergarten had brought nothing but positivity into the Tozier household. Richie was doing great. Richie had an incredible group of friends. Maggie and Went had made a couple of amazing friends as a result of Richie having friends which, for the majority, had decent, easy-to-converse-with parents. Maggie thoroughly enjoyed going to work with Went three-days-per-week-- so much so that she was starting to consider going full-time with Went. Everything had been falling into a great place since September. That is, until a slight bump in the road reared its head in the form of a hand-written note that had been safety-pinned to Richie’s sweater on a Friday early-November. 

Maggie had pulled up to the school where she saw a few groups of children hanging about on the playground-- most non-bus kids had taken to waiting inside for their parents as the air turned crisp and the wind had developed a chilling bite to it. Her four boys did not see a problem with the turning season, and remained outside in their puffer jackets and knit beanies and scarves as they played in the leaves that decorated the relatively empty playground. The only other kids that sat outside were a few seventh graders from the middle school that had walked over and were forced to be outside because they enjoyed smoking near the basketball court, some fourth grade boys that were engaged in a game of tackle-football, and a group of second-graders that wanted to break each other’s arms in an intense game of Red Rover.

Maggie slid her jacket back over her pantsuit before heading over toward the fence where the four boys were giggling loudly. Immediately as she leaned her body against the chilled metal, Eddie’s high pitched voice met her ears.

“Hi Mrs. Tozier!” Eddie greets, beaming at her. 

“Hi Mama.” Richie says, once his focus on their game is averted with Eddie’s loud greeting. 

“Hi boys.” Maggie waves toward Bill and Stan as Eddie and Richie make their way toward her. Maggie has taken to driving Eddie home after school given that Maggie had somewhat manipulated Sonia by informing her that there was a higher chance of Eddie being injured in a car accident if even one more car was on the road. The more parents carpooling, the less cars, the less chance her “Eddie-bear” would have a shortened life. Andrea typically took turns driving home Bill and Stan given they were in the same class and her schedule frequently fell in better sync with Sharon’s than Maggie’s ever did. However, when necessary or whenever Maggie simply wanted the company of four rambunctious boys, Maggie was always more than happy to drive all four boys home since Richie was no longer scared of sitting in the passenger seat. 

Richie and Eddie climb into the back and immediately start rambling about their day to her as she begins to pull out of the parking lot. She is sure to interject her own sounds of acknowledgement as the two rattle off an abundance of information before Eddie halts the conversation, his head whipping toward Richie.

“Don’t forget the letter Mrs. Harris put on you today!”

“What le-- oh yeah!” Richie’s face lights up as he unzips his jacket.

“What letter?” Maggie asks as she stops in front of a stop sign, her eyes peering into the rearview mirror. She catches sight of a piece of paper with neat handwriting that she recognizes as Mrs. Harris’s, safety-pinned to the front of Richie’s striped sweater. She cannot help but feel confused at the placement of the note. What teacher deemed it appropriate to pin a letter through a child’s sweater rather than handing it to the child to give to their parents? That is something that strikes Maggie with confusion and makes her stomach shift uncomfortably as she continues driving toward the Kaspbrak residence. 

“It’s from Mrs. Harris.”

“And Richie keeps forgetting to give the paper to you so she had to put it on him and also told me if I ‘minded him, I’d get a piece of candy, tomorrow.” Eddie says proudly. 

“Well.” Maggie sighs softly. “How long have you been forgetting about this note, baby?”

“Uh?” Richie thinks for a moment. He turns to Eddie before peering down at the note, eyes scrunching as he attempts to read the words upside down.

“September.” Eddie answers, able to make out the big S in the mess of cursive that they are still not fully capable of reading. 

“September?” Maggie repeats. “Honey, that was in the very start of the school year.”

“I know.” Richie says, voice going soft. “I just kept forgetting or losing it.” He looks down at his feet, clearly embarrassed.

Eddie puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, stretching his seatbelt to its full length in order to hug the other boy. 

“I’m not mad, baby.”

“I know. I feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid!” Eddie reassures him, scooting back to his side. “You’re the smartest kid in our class!” 

Maggie feels a sense of warmth at Eddie’s attempts to console her boy. “You are both very smart boys, alright?” 

“Thank you Mrs. Tozier!” Eddie squeaks as they pull up his driveway where Sonia stands outside the front door, waiting for the arrival of Eddie.

Maggie gets out of the car, and helps Eddie get out of the back. Normally, she lets the boys get out on their own but she knows if Sonia saw such a sight, she would accuse her of putting her son at risk of getting a head injury from climbing down six whole inches toward the ground. She gives the boy a small hug, before giving a courtesy wave at his mother. “Is he still okay to stay the night tomorrow with Bill and Stan?” Maggie asks as Eddie waves goodbye at Richie before jogging up the driveway.

“After he sees his allergist, yes.” Sonia confirms, kneeling down in front of Eddie, inspecting him for some imaginary ailments. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. See you tomorrow, Sonia.” Maggie responds, getting into the driver seat and making her way back toward their own home.

“Are you mad?” Richie asks after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Huh? Oh, baby no!” Maggie laughs. “Everyone forgets things. I was just surprised.”

Richie nods, peering out the window, clearly eager to get out of the car. 

Maggie pulls up the driveway and walks back into the house with him. Richie is about to drop all his stuff and sprint to his room to read one of his comic books or play with one of his many toys before Maggie quickly stops him. 

“Hang on there, hon!” Maggie laughs, squatting in front of him to unpin the letter from his sweater.

“I can’t read it much. The letters are loopy.” Richie informs her. “I can read my name though!”

“It’s called cursive, baby, and that’s great!” Maggie enlightens him as she begins to read Mrs. Harris’s neat scrawl. As her eyes scan each sentence, she finds her brow furrowing slightly and a slight feeling of uncertainty pooling into her veins.

The letter informs her that this is approximately the tenth attempt at having this information delivered her way which is why she was forced to pin the note to Richie’s clothes-- something she deeply apologizes for and reassures Maggie that she made sure to be gentle as to not ruin his clothing. There is a minor snag in the sweater but Maggie can easily attribute that to Richie being… well Richie-- which is the primary problem noted in the letter. Apparently, Mrs. Harris, despite enjoying having Richie as a student and admitting that he is startlingly bright, has had countless issues in having Richie in her class. Apparently he is displaying numerous behavioral problems in the class and because of this, Mrs. Harris would like to schedule a meeting one evening after school with Maggie and Went to discuss this matter in person before taking any immediate action. 

“Is it bad?” Richie inquires, his magnified eyes wide behind his glasses. “I d-didn’t do nothing bad! I promise!” He pauses, eyes tracking back and forth and shoulders tensing in the way they always do when he is nervous or lying or both. “W-well… I do… I have been in trouble with Mrs. Harris.” 

“No, no, honey. You’re okay. Mrs. Harris just wants to see Mommy and Daddy and talk to us about some stuff. Okay?” Maggie pulls Richie into a hug, lifting him up, her heart sinking at the fearful look written in his quivering lip and big eyes. “She said there are some issues, however.”

“I get yelled at some.” He croaks, his nose twitching slightly-- a clear sign that he is about to break down before her. “I-I don’t mean to be bad.”

“You are not bad, Richie.” She soothes, pulling his head into her shoulder. “We’ll take care of everything, okay? We just want to make sure everything is okay in school.” He nods, a small sob wiggling its way out of his chest. “Oh honey, don’t cry. You’re not in trouble.” She laughs a little, dropping back into the couch as his weight settles awkwardly in her triceps. “You are such a smart and sweet boy. It seems that you have a few problems sometimes, but we’re going to talk to Mrs. Harris about it, okay? I think she likes you a lot and just wants us to know what’s going on.”

Richie rubs at his eyes, pulling his head out of her neck, sitting back on her thighs. She wants to move him off as his bony ass weighs down on her slender legs, but as a mother she knows that it is essentially against the law to move one’s distraught son from their lap regardless of any physical pain. “I don’t mean to be loud… It's just… I don’t know.” He wraps his arms around his middle, laying against her chest. 

“I know. Don’t worry about it, okay? Mama's gonna write a note back to Mrs. Harris and _I’ll_ give it to the office on Monday so you don’t need to worry about forgetting it, okay? We will figure everything out.” Maggie tells him.

Richie nods against her. “Can we play somethin’ upstairs?” He mumbles, eyes peering up at her.

“Of course.” Maggie answers, tousling his hair. 

xXx

Richie ends up going to the Uris family around six to play with Stan and Bill. Apparently, Sonia found a bruise on Eddie’s cheek and decided she needed to take him to the emergency room to have him inspected for a head injury. She had called Maggie and asked her if she had been driving recklessly and Maggie reassured her that she had abided by all driving laws. Maggie could have sworn she had seen a dark smudge on Eddie’s face when he had gotten in her car and was fairly confident that the first ER nurse to look at Eddie’s face would simply wipe it away and inform Sonia that the bruise was actually a dusting of dirt from playing in the leaves. 

Regardless, Maggie felt bad for Eddie and could only hope this ER visit did not prevent him from enjoying a _normal_ night with Richie, Stan, and Bill tomorrow night. Until then, with the power of anxiety revolving around the content of Mrs. Harris’s note, Maggie found herself deep cleaning the downstairs whilst awaiting Went’s return from work. She did not have to worry about dinner that night as Richie would be eating with Stan’s family and her and Went were content on eating celery stalks slathered in Philadelphia cream cheese. 

Once she finds herself scrubbing at the baseboards, she hears Went step inside.

“What has you stressed?” Went immediately asks, taking note of the unnatural tidiness of the house. They didn’t live in a pigsty by any means, but their house looked relatively lived in by a married couple in their late twenties and a five-year-old that had a little more free reign to be creatively expressive than most parents may permit. Currently? It was starting to align with the cleanliness of a childless couple in their fifties that only came home once a week in between extended vacations. 

“Richie’s teacher sent that note home.” Maggie answers, not looking up from her work as she points toward the paper sitting on the coffee table. Went picks it up, skimming the note without demonstrating the same perturbation as Maggie had.

“Okay and this is warranting a cleaning spree, why?” Went cocks his eyebrows in a way that Richie constantly attempts to imitate. “She just wants to see us.”

“Yeah, but he’s been getting in trouble and we haven’t known about it.”

“He’s our son, Maggie. I’d be concerned if he _wasn’t_ getting in trouble.” Went snorts. He sits himself next to her, not without a few dad-noises he will later deny making, and puts a hand on her back. “He’s a smart kid and we’ll get this all figured out.”

“I know. I just don’t want this to cause him any problems.”

“Okay, we both know you pretended this was not problematic when he was around, so you need to start convincing yourself the same thing, okay? I’ll get off early on Tuesday and we can both go right after school lets out, alright?” He sets his chin on her shoulder, his breath minty and cool against her neck. Another perk of being married to a dentist. Bad breath never existed between the couple. “Now, he’s away with Stan... so you know what that means?”

“Hmm?” She says, dropping her cloth back in the dirty bucket.

“Horror movies.” 

xXx

Went was wrong. Richie’s behavioral issues posed a greater issue than either of them had initially believed and Maggie would later mumble that she had every right to impulsively clean the first story of their home that previous Friday. 

Tuesday, after work and after Maggie had informed the other mothers that she would not be able to take home any of their boys, she and Went made their way to Derry Elementary. Richie was sitting outside on the playground with Bill, Stan, and Eddie, all of whom would be going home with Andrea Uris once she arrived. The four boys were in the midst of creating a giant leaf pile. 

Went finger-whistled in order to gain Richie’s attention. Richie immediately whipped around, smiling at the sight of his parents. He said his goodbyes to his friends and as usual, gave Eddie a hug before sprinting their way. 

“Hi Daddy! Hi Mommy!” Richie says, about to turn toward their car.

“Oh, no.” Went laughs, picking Richie right off his feet. “We have our meeting with Mrs. Harris today, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” He says, a look of uneasiness ghosting upon his soft face. 

“Hey, don’t get like that. We’re gonna be alright.” Went comforts him, following Maggie’s lead to Mrs. Harris’s classroom. Maggie steps into the open room where she finds Mrs. Harris organizing some books on a shelf on the other side. Went takes it upon himself to knock softly on the open door to indicate their arrival. The woman immediately turns, a kind smile on her face.

“Hi Dr. and Mrs. Tozier,” The woman greets. “Hi Richie!”

“Hi again.” Richie says from Went’s arms. 

“Hi. I think this is the first time we’ve met.” Went says, using his free hand to offer a friendly handshake.

“I believe so, yes.” She confirms, taking the offered handshake. “Now, if you two want to talk to me by my desk, that would be just fine. I think it may be best for Richie to wait in the hallway if we need him by any chance.”

Richie looks at Maggie, brows drawing together. 

“That will be fine.” Maggie agrees, giving Richie a telling look that everything will be okay. 

Went sets the boy down and he immediately scampers off into the hall. Mrs. Harris then guides the two parents to two adult-sized chairs that sit in front of her nicely organized desk. Maggie can only imagine it does not look so put together during the school day when she is most likely surrounded by twenty-something five-year-olds. 

“Thank you so much for taking the time to come talk to me about Richie.” She starts. “I’ve been trying to contact you both for a while but it seems I was wrong to rely on Richie to relay the message.”

“He can be a tad forgetful.” Went acknowledges.

“Yeah… that is part of the problem, actually.” Mrs. Harris states. “Richie, while he is an extremely smart boy-- perhaps the smartest in my class-- has been demonstrating a variety of behavioral issues since day one.” Maggie and Went nod at this. “He is extremely loud and disruptive in class. I understand that he almost always knows the answer but I have told him time and time again that he needs to raise his hand but he never seems to remember that rule. He is always wired up and is constantly bouncing off the walls. He is also extremely talkative and often distracts other students, especially Edward Kaspbrak.”

Maggie is not surprised at that.

“I have taken the liberty of separating the two but it has not stopped Richie from yelling across the room to talk to the boy. He will get out of his seat during class and talk to Edward or just start working on something not pertaining to the lesson.” She sighs. “I understand that he gets bored easily, but I have made numerous attempts at giving him additional work to prevent him from causing a ruckus in class, but it never seems to stop. He is smart, but he never seems to remember any instructions I or other teachers give him and he is extremely forgetful as you can tell by his inability to get my letters to you.” 

Maggie has known that Richie cannot focus since he was little. Richie never managed to keep his attention on a single subject for more than a few minutes before diverting his attention to something else. Maggie also knew that Richie was a ball of energy. He never seemed to have an off button. She never knew it to be an issue. She simply ascribed it to being normal little boy behavior. Apparently it was not. Maggie knew her son. She did not know what made a child “normal,” however.

“I really like your son, do not get me wrong. He is such a sweet little boy and I feel bad having to write him up so frequently… something I’m sure you do not know as he has never returned a parent signature to me.”

“We have not ever received one, no.” Went sighs, sitting back, crossing his arms over his chest. This was not what he expected. He assumed this meeting would be about Richie simply adopting Stan’s sassiness-- something the Uris family had to discuss with Ms. Oney earlier in the school year when Stan’s quick wit caused Greta Keene to cry in humiliation.

“Did he give you his progress report? That was due with a parent’s signature yesterday.”

“No.” Maggie says. “We check his backpack each night before bed, but we’ve never seen anything.”

“He seems to forget the process of even putting things in his bag.” Mrs. Harris tells them. “I have found his papers, more often than not, on the floor or left behind on his desk.” She laughs weakly. “I bet you don’t even get to see how _well_ he’s doing or all the beautiful drawings he’s made of his family here. He forgets so many of them. Luckily,” she pulls out a small folder. “I thought to keep them all with me since I knew I would meet the two of you at some point.” She slides it over to them, and they are met with an abundance of stickered papers and surprisingly neat drawings that often feature them as a united family or ones of him with Eddie, Stan, and Bill. 

“We’ve gotten some of his work back” Went remarks as he smiles softly at a drawing of the outside of their home. 

“Yes, he isn’t always forgetful, no. It just seems like it happens more often than not.” Mrs. Harris says. “I’ve been a teacher for almost ten years now and I’ve seen behaviors like this before and I think I know what’s wrong here.”

Maggie and Went look up curiously as Mrs. Harris pushes a soft blue brochure their way. “I think Richie has Attention Deficit Disorder with Hyperactivity.” Maggie opens the brochure and begins reading the symptoms of the disorder and her stomach drops as she realizes that Richie is a literal textbook case of this disorder seeing as he checks off nearly every box before her. The one that gets her the most, however, is what happens when it goes untreated and that is the: _increased risk of low self-esteem and depression._ That is something Richie had had since he was a toddler. In almost every situation, Richie has always demonstrated an unnecessary amount of self-doubt that never made sense to her. Could it possibly be because she failed him in the same way she had when he could not see and let him go about his life with this disorder? 

“I’m not a doctor.” Mrs. Harris states bluntly. “But, I’ve seen this enough and I really think this is something Richie needs to be checked out for. I’m not his parent and I’m not going to demand he be tested, but I really think you should consider it. There’s medicine for it now and I genuinely believe he could benefit from it.”

“Alright, uh, we will definitely get him checked out.” Maggie says. Went glances at her, clearly feeling guilty at dismissing the issue previously. “Thank you so much Mrs. Harris. Hopefully all of this gets taken care of soon.”

“Thank you for seeing me, today.” The woman says as she guides the two parents back out to their son that is currently sitting upside down, his feet against the wall and mumbling to himself. 

“Hi!” He says, waving at the adults.

“Hi Richie! I’ll see you again tomorrow!” Mrs. Harris says with a friendly wave.

Went bends down to pick his son up. They offer their farewells and make their way back to the car. 

Went buckles Richie into the back as Maggie settles herself in the passenger side, continuing to analyze the brochure before her. 

“We need to get him a doctor’s appointment.” Maggie instantly declares.

“Am I in trouble?” Richie asks fearfully

“Not at all.”

“I don’t like the doctors…” Richie mumbles.

“ I know,” Went sighs. “We just gotta get a little check-up for you to make sure everything is healthy in your brain.”

“But you said I was smart.”

“This is about other stuff, honey.” Maggie adds. “It’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Richie whines slightly before giving a soft, “Okay.”

“Sorry.” Went mumbles to Maggie as she begins closely analyzing all the accomplishments and art projects Richie has completed since September that they were deprived of seeing as a result of their son’s apparent attention deficiencies. She will not allow this to continue and wants to determine the specific cause of Richie’s behavior problems and treat them accordingly.

xXx

Maggie and Went are able to get Richie into the doctor’s office by Saturday. The appointment is quick and Richie, despite his fear of doctors, is relaxed once he realizes there is not going to be any needles or unnecessary prodding. The doctor discusses what had brought them here and what Mrs. Harris had told them. He has Richie complete a few cognitive tasks and asks him a few questions, whilst observing his energetic and easily distracted nature. The doctor does not have to do much before he comes to his own conclusions. 

As Went and Maggie each expected, Richie is diagnosed with ADD with hyperactivity. The doctor explains to them the prognosis of the disorder and prescribes Richie a small dose of a drug called Ritalin that he is to take once each morning. Maggie is a little uncomfortable about the idea of having Richie medicated so quickly and inquires about therapy or other methods of treatment. 

The doctor reassures her that Ritalin is the ideal way of eliminating the symptoms as quickly as possible given that one of the most notable qualities of Ritalin is the rapid impact it appears to have. There is no annoying delay in between prescribing it and visible results which makes Maggie feel a little bit better. Additionally, the doctor informs them that Ritalin will prevent the continuation of side effects such as the low self-esteem Maggie had expressed concern with and potential academic problems that may make themselves present as Richie progressed in school. 

So, Maggie and Went accepted what the doctor told them and had a prescription for Ritalin filled for their son. He takes it for the very first time Monday morning right before Maggie and him make the drive to school. 

She has a feeling of anxiety in the pit of her stomach as she hopes that today will be the first day Richie comes home with any materials he is instructed to take home and that this may be the start of no forgotten messages and a decline in his class outbursts. Maggie desperately wishes that she could be there to witness the drug take its effect in the classroom to determine if this was indeed the right course of action. 

Unfortunately, all she can do is drop him off in front and make her way to Went’s office. Of course, when she first walks in, Went immediately approaches her. 

“Does it work?” He asks.

“Went, _you’re_ a doctor.” She scolds. “You know I wouldn’t see any change just by giving it to him and driving him to school.”

“Well, I don’t know. The doctor said it was fast and I know it takes most of the drugs I administer like thirty seconds before a patient is laughing at the ceiling tiles or confessing to cheating on their spouse.” 

“I’ll have to remember to use that on you.”

“Do you really doubt me that much?” Went gasps, before kissing her forehead.

“Hush. Go get ready for your first client.” She smacks the folder against his flat stomach. She wonders how long the two of them have before they start going soft in the way she notices some of the older parents at Richie’s school have. “Root canal.”

xXx

The workday feels longer than normal. Maggie suspects that is driven by the fact that she is anxiously thinking about how her son is doing at school. She hasn’t felt this nervous about him and school since his very first day. She cannot help but feel a touch pathetic but feels better when Went relents his own feelings regarding the situation right after they finish slightly unprofessional activities during their lunch hour. 

But, finally, she is free from the screaming children and has left her husband and the old ladies to fend for themselves against the cranky afternoon crowd. She had always expected morning clients to be the crabby ones, but apparently the idea of getting a cavity filled, a root canal finished, or teeth extracted is significantly worse after one has completed an entire day of work. 

She still has about forty-five minutes before school is let out, so she takes it upon herself to run a few errands. She browses a local bike shop and takes down a few notes regarding what may be best for a slightly-below-average height five, almost six-year-old, she purchases some groceries to top off for the week, and lastly, she decides to buy a rather large book on birds that she knows that Stan does not have so they can gift that to him come the holidays. She knows the Uris family does not celebrate Christmas but they have always gone out of their way to give something to Richie during the last days of Hanukkah and have been more than willing to accept anything the Toziers give them on Christmas. 

Finally, enough time has ticked by and Maggie makes her way to Richie’s school where she sees her favorite boys grouped together on the playground. They don’t seem nearly as active as normal and are simply sitting about, scanning comic books that Eddie has brought from home. She can only assume it is due to the drop in temperature. She will have to encourage the boys to start spending their time waiting inside. If Sonia knew that Eddie waited outside for the boys in this weather, she would probably have him quarantined for a week. 

She makes her way out, wincing slightly as the air nips at her nose. She makes eye contact with Eddie first, as per usual and notices Richie turn his head in sync with him. She can’t help but notice he looks a little off-color-- slightly peaky if she’s being honest. 

“Hi Mrs. Tozier!” Eddie greets. 

Richie merely waves, pulling his backpack slowly over his shoulders. She notices he still has his brown lunch bag with him and that Stan is munching on the crackers she had packed for Richie. He follows closely behind Eddie, giving her a quick hug around the hips before crawling into the back seat.

Eddie is taking the liberty of babbling about what they did as Maggie settles herself in the front seat while Richie remains uncharacteristically silent. 

“Wow!” Maggie exclaims as Eddie finishes a story about how they are going to have a Thanksgiving party next week. “That sounds really cool!”

“You can sign up to bring something. I have the paper.” Richie mutters quietly, his eyes closed as he rests his head against the door.

“Oh, I’ll look at that.” She narrows her eyes as she sees his wan face in the rearview mirror. “Honey? Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m tired.” He answers softly. “And ‘m head hurts.” 

“He didn’t eat none of his lunch and my mama says that can make people dizzy and tired and stuff.” Eddie adds.

“That’s right, Eddie. Why didn’t you eat anything, honey? That’s not good for you.”

“Wasn’t hungry.”

“We can get something at home if you want.”

His face grimaces slightly at the thought of food and he shakes his head. “I wanna go to bed.”

“I thought we were gonna go see Stan?” Eddie seems shocked but then mellows out. “But if you’re sick… you should stay home.” His shoulder begin to tense slightly and he attempts to distance himself from Richie as much as possible in the backseat of the car. A lot of the hypochondria and general irrational thinking regarding illness and injury has diminished with his constant exposure to the healthy environment that is offered by the Tozier family, but being close to someone with illness is something that Maggie can tell still bothers him greatly. However, it is evident that he is still keen on making Richie feel better. “My mama makes me tea when I don’t feel good and makes me take lots of medicine and I feel better super fast.”

Maggie internally thinks that Sonia would make her son take a lot of medicine even if he was the pinnacle of health. “We will be sure to get him right as rain, Eddie.” Maggie tells the other boy, smiling in the rearview mirror as she pulls up toward the Kaspbrak home. “Alright, Eddie, if you can, don’t tell your mom about Richie not feeling well. She might get mad at me for letting you be around him, okay? You know, another one of our little secrets, sweetheart.”

“Okay, Mrs. Tozier. Feel better, Rich!”

Richie merely nods, curling his knees up to his chest. Maggie walks around the car and makes with the usual show of getting Sonia’s son out in front of her so she doesn’t throw a hissy fit. She exchanges a few formalities with the woman before getting back into the car and heading back toward the house.

“Want to lay on the couch, sweetie?”

“Mmmhm.” Richie says, eyes clenched shut. 

“You’re real tired, huh?”

“I don’t know. My head just feels spinny.” He mumbles. 

“I’m sorry honey. I hope you feel better soon.” She pulls up, picking Richie out of the backseat, and carrying him inside. He immediately unzips the bag and hands her the aforementioned form before taking his shoes off and putting them away from the door so his father does not trip over them like he has many times in the past. Maggie cannot help but be impressed at this. The proud feeling simmers down once she is reminded that her boy is ill as he immediately drops on the couch and pulls a blanket over his shoulders. 

“Do you want me to put anything on for you?”

Richie shakes his head, closing his eyes. “My head hurts.” 

She rests her hand on his forehead, expecting to feel heat but feels nothing. If anything, he is slightly cold. She moves her hand off of his head, and pushes his fingers through his curls that are slightly damp with a cold sweat. She sits like this with him until his breathing evens out and it is evident that he is completely out. She moves to bring everything in from her prior shopping trips and puts away the groceries and stows away her notes regarding Eddie’s future bike and Stan’s book. 

Went pulls up and she half expects Richie to be up and bouncing to see his father. Instead, he remains curled up in the same spot, barely twitching in his sleep. She cannot help but feel pity for her little boy as Went walks in.

“Hello, love.” He greets, his eyes noticing the sleeping form of his son. “Thought he was done napping down here?”

“He hasn’t felt well today. He said he’s had a headache and Eddie told me he didn’t eat anything today, so now he’s kinda dizzy and nauseous.”

“Think he’s getting sick?” He asks.

“I think he’s just worn out, honestly.” Maggie answers. “He doesn’t have a fever and he’s just really groggy.”

“Well, hopefully he feels better soon.”

“On the bright side, he brought home everything they did in school today, he put his shoes away, and he remembered his class’s sign-up sheet.”

“Any negative notes in his bag?”

“Not that I saw, nope.”

“Well, look at that,” Went beams, “Guess all he needed was a little help.”

xXx

**December 1981**

Maggie came to learn that Ritalin was not helpful. There was no bright side. She knew something was wrong with Richie but had failed to attribute it to the drug he had been prescribed for too long and that would be something that weighed on her and Went for years to come. She and Went failed to see past the desirable impact Ritalin had on their boy. There were no complaints from teachers anymore. He kept his room tidy. Hell, even Sonia Kaspbrak remarked how well-behaved Richie was the one time they had to ask her to keep him over night when there had been a busted water pipe at Went’s practice. 

It was Richie’s friends that were the only ones that did not appreciate the side effects of the drug by any means. They had lost their friend in their eyes. Richie no longer initiated fun and exciting games of Flashlight tag on the weekends, threw snowballs at them whilst waiting for their parents to come get them, and never tried sticking his tongue to basketball poles to make Stan laugh when he was in a cranky mood. He was easily agitated anytime the other boys tried to make him do anything more exertive than sit around reading books or drawing. He never wanted to eat lunch anymore and often passed his pudding cups to Eddie and his sandwich to Bill and his crackers to Stan. He would constantly rest his head on his arms and stare at the wall during lunch hour and none of the boys could stand watching Richie act this way. 

So on the last Friday before winter break began, when Maggie waved Richie and Eddie over toward the car to go home, Eddie decided to put his size 11 foot down. Richie sat himself in the back, eyes closed as nausea settled uncomfortably in his stomach despite the fact that he had not consumed anything since breakfast. 

“Mrs. Tozier?” Eddie starts.

“Yes, sweetie?” She sounds slightly confused that he is not chattering on about the day he and Richie had.

“Richie isn’t okay.” He says, pointing toward the groggy boy.

“Yeah I am.” Richie grumbles halfheartedly.

“Uh-uh. He’s acting real different and I-I don’t like it.” Eddie’s voice is stern in a way that Maggie rarely hears from the boy. “He’s not fun no more and he never feels good. He just sits ‘round and is too quiet.”

Maggie glances back at Eddie, not even moving to start the car, turning her body to look at the boys. “What do you mean?”

“Richie… he used to be fun.”

“I’m fun.” Richie pouts.

“Not no more, no!” Eddie bites back, his eyes sad as they meet Maggie’s. “None of us like it. He isn’t… he’s not Richie! He’s quiet. He never tells us jokes no more. We don’t even have to beep him anymore! He doesn’t wanna play _real_ games with us. He fell asleep _first_ at our last sleepover. He never wants to do anything. I want _my_ Richie back.”

“Eddie…”

“It’s not fun anymore!” Eddie shouts, clearly frustrated at this mellowed Richie. “I think he has a brain tumor.” Eddie declares. 

“Honey,” Maggie cannot help but laugh somewhat sporadically at this accusation. “Richie does not have a brain tumor. I promise that.”

“But his head always hurts, his tummy always hurts, and he’s got a new personality! My mama says that means someones got a brain tumor.” There are tears in Eddie’s eyes and Richie seems indifferent to it. _That_ rubs Maggie the wrong way. Normally, Richie would not allow his friends to express such intense emotions without responding. This Richie, however, is counting his own breathing, his face pasty and marred with a weak grimace. “I want Richie to be Richie again.”

That’s when it strikes Maggie. Everything that Mrs. Harris and the doctor saw as “wrong” with Richie, was what his friends loved about him. They did not recognize it as being an inconvenience or a disorder that needed medicated. They saw Richie’s antics as the personality that drew them into being his best friends. It was what made them laugh with him, made them “beep” him, and what made them adore him. Every adult saw this “new” Richie as the improved version. Guiltily enough, Maggie had too… and not for _her_ sake, necessarily. She never saw anything wrong with Richie’s boisterous antics and motormouth tendencies-- she simply did not like the idea of Richie upsetting another adult or going about life with some disorder. But, clearly, what they were doing was muting what made Richie so lovable to his friends. 

They had given him a pill that erased Richie’s personality and left a hollow shell of a person that did nothing except listen to others without offering any of his own wit to the conversation and be what was convenient for the adults that only saw him for what, eight hours a day? It wasn’t fair to Richie and it wasn’t fair to his friends.

“I’m so sorry Eddie.” Maggie says truthfully. “I had no idea this was making you all so upset.”

“‘M sorry, Eddie.” Richie mumbles.

“Honey, it’s not your fault.” Maggie sighs. “I’m going to have him checked out, okay, sweetie?”

Eddie nods. “You’ll tell me if it’s a brain tumor, right?” 

“Of course.” Maggie pauses. “After Richie comes home, do you still want me to come get you for a sleepover tonight?”

“Only if Richie is feeling better”

“I’m sure he will be.” 

xXx

Immediately after dropping Eddie off, Maggie makes her way to the urgent care. Guilt rages in her veins as she begins ticking off the changes Richie has displayed since they started him on his medication. She merely associated it with the cold season and failed to acknowledge that they were essentially poisoning away what made Richie, Richie. She knew how lively and excitable her son was. She, herself never saw it as problematic or something that needed to be cured… but if it meant appeasing someone else, apparently she was willing to squash it all away and she felt beyond awful.

She knew no one was worth pleasing if it tolled on Richie’s expense. 

As she got out of the car and picked Richie up, she could truly see the negative impacts the drug was _physically_ having on her son. Firstly, she did not find herself grunting under his weight. She knew he had had a significant decrease in his appetite and had on more than one occasion been woken up by him standing in the doorway, moaning that he had gotten sick in the bathroom. She had not realized it had been enough to make him drop a couple of pounds his skinny ass needed. His tiny shoulders were twitching slightly as random shivers of anxiety wracked through his body. His eyes were bloodshot and his pupils were miniscule in their blue pools and she could only wonder how she did not notice this with the magnification the glasses offered for her to take note of the poor state he was clearly in. The circles under his eyes were too dark for any child to ever have and she could not believe that anyone, especially herself, could look at her son and think he was okay. After all, he wasn’t being “disruptive” or “loud” or “misbehaving,” so no one really cared if he looked like he was on death’s door. If he was complying with what others wanted, it didn’t matter. If this was how he had physically declined, she could only wonder what mental effects were weighing him down, that he was not disclosing. 

She picked up a form at the front desk and began filling it out, keeping Richie upon her lap as she did so. He rested his head upon her shoulder, eyes rolling shut as she filled out the last pages. She moved to return the clipboard, gut sinking as he did not even startle at her movements. She knew she had definitely let him down this time. This was not excusable like the glasses thing may have been. No. This was complete and utter disregard for her son’s well being for the sake of others and she would never let that happen again, she decided as she sat there waiting for her son to be examined. 

The doctor at the urgent care determines that Richie’s deteriorating health is indeed the result of being on Ritalin. The doctor seems rather appalled that a child as young as Richie was prescribed the drug and informs Maggie that she had been right in questioning the doctor in regards to other plausible treatments during their initial visit. She doesn’t feel as if she has done anything right but the doctor is kind to her and explains that this is a common occurrence, especially for young boys. He agrees that Richie definitely has ADD, but there are a multitude of other ways that they can address it. They can enroll him in behavioral therapy. Maggie does not really want to do this. She does not want to view his behavior as a problem anymore. 

She doesn't frankly give a damn if it’s bothersome to a teacher or any other adult. His behavior gave him friends and made her and Went laugh. Her Richie is fine and she knows this. Instead, they devise a way of helping Richie get through his school days without forgetting vital information. They decide it may be advisable in giving instructions to Richie in one step increments rather than piling information on him so rapidly. He is a smart boy. That goes without saying-- but with his mind constantly buzzing, he can clearly only handle processing instructional information bit-by-bit. She will have to have a word with Mrs. Harris on the matter. She seems like a reasonable enough woman and she can only hope that she is willing to make accomodations for Richie. 

If not? Well, she can only hope that Richie manages to piss her off.

The doctor advises that they do not completely cut out the Ritalin and instead wean him off slowly. He is on a mild dose so he instructs they start giving it to him every other day and then go from there. They are bound to experience a few side effects along the way-- but anything is better than the weight loss, anxiety, and the dizziness that Richie had been enduring for the past month without being able to vocalize the problem as he did not realize this was anything beyond a cold creeping up on him. Maggie cannot wait until they can fully eliminate the drug and flush the pills down the toilet. The doctor is encouraging and informs her that she did the right thing. She is not able to admit that she only was able to do the “right thing” because her son’s best friends were distraught over losing their best friend.

She gathers Richie up and drives him home, where Went is already waiting for them. He is in the kitchen, making dinner when he hears them enter. 

“Where were you two at?” Went inquires. “I was starting to get worried.”

“Doctor. We are cutting the Ritalin down.” Maggie announces, setting Richie down. The boy immediately walks out and goes to crash on the couch. 

“Why’s that?”

“It’s doing nothing good for him. Not really. He… I didn’t realize how much it was sucking the life out of him until, well, Eddie started crying to me in the car today.” Maggie sighs. “We just wanted to make life easier for other people but we were hurting him in the process.”

“What did the doctor say?” Went says, taking in the information as he truly considers the sickly appearance he noticed in his son just seconds ago. 

“Well, apparently this is kind of common under Ritalin-- especially in young boys. He suggested we try and give Richie instructions one step at a time rather than bombarding him with everything at once and request that teachers accommodate for this as well.”

“Do they still think he has ADD?”

“Definitely.” Maggie nods. “They just don’t think now is an appropriate time to have him medicated and it might never be. I know Richie has a problem and I know,” she huffs out a breath, “I know _now,_ that these problems aren’t something we need to medicate away. We are responsible for helping him with whatever he needs help with and accepting the quirks that come along with it.”

“I say you’re right.” Went smiles weakly. 

xXx

**January 1982**

Weaning Richie off the Ritalin had extremely desirable effects-- well at least it did to his parents and to his friends. The people that mattered. Fortunately, after a second meeting with Mrs. Harris, she was more than willing to work around Richie’s needs to ensure that he was focusing properly and getting home any important papers. They had devised a folder system for him to utilize. He still found himself forgetting on and off, but with candy on the line, Eddie was selected to remind Richie of anything he may be at risk for forgetting and for alerting the Toziers of any upcoming events that frequently slipped Richie’s mind. He still occasionally served time on the playground line during recess whenever he was too hyperactive in class-- but that was better than him dozing lifelessly on the playground whilst wrongly medicated. 

More importantly, however, Richie was back to his normal self… or back to being Richie. Maggie didn’t think there was such a thing as normal if you had the last name Tozier. He had regained his appetite and she found herself having to shift him all around whilst holding him again. His eyes were bright and excitable again. He was back to cracking jokes, making (poor) impressions of voices, and enjoying time with his friends. When Maggie had helped Eddie out of the car last Friday, he had hugged her and thanked her for “bringing Richie back.” 

Maggie knew not everyone would be capable of handling her Richie. Some people did and would continue to find him to be obnoxious. They would not like his motormouth nor would they appreciate his humor. His hyperactivity would drive them up a wall. Maggie knew that Richard Tozier was not for everyone but she knew there was no sense in attempting to “cure” anything about her son. Richie was absolutely perfect in her opinion-- after all, he was 50% her and 50% the man she loved more than anything and who was she to assume any flaw in any of that.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big note: ADHD is definitely Richie's diagnosis but that was not a genuine term until 1987. So. Here we are. I did a lot of research regarding this chapter and the treatment of ADD (as it was exclusively referred to with some subtypes aka why I had Richie's diagnosis referred to as ADD with hyperactivity), was very mixed with people wanting to medicate kids and others being like uh just fuckin help them???
> 
> seems like nothing has changed... just the name. hahaha. ow.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this wasn't a trashcan chapter!!!! sorry not sorry for any errors. I am a tired and overworked human.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Use of F-slur. I always get all nervous even typing that word? 
> 
> This chapter is my least favorite thus far (I live to disappoint). But the idea was in my head and yes I could have skipped over it and started a future chapter but I want this chronological and I don't want to fast forward in time too much. Idk it was just difficult for me to execute? I am the anger. Also, I am more excited about writing future chapters so I saw no reason to put this off and wait for my brain to be in a state where it does not make senseless mush. I am annoyed. I apologize. I just wanna get into 1989 already. FUCK. 
> 
> But hey here's some bullshit that includes da boys. Wa hoo? Maybe? I don't fuckin know. 
> 
> Whoops. Fuck it. I'm TRYING TO GET TO FUCKIN PETTYWISE THE DAMN HOMOPHOBIC CLOWN.

Maggie knew Richie and his friends were being teased at school when she picked Richie and Eddie up from school on the first day of second grade.

**September 1983**

The summer before second grade had been filled with a multitude of changes for the Tozier family. First and foremost, they elected to have an in-the-ground pool put in the backyard back in March and that had become the highlight of Richie and all his friends’ summer. It took a lot of convincing, but Maggie and Went managed to convince Sonia Kaspbrak to allow them both to teach Eddie how to swim. The Toziers didn’t think it was fair or even remotely safe that a six-year-old didn’t know how to swim and they made sure to inform her of this which of course set the woman off into a fit that they had seen all too many times with having Richie so close to Eddie. She was on the verge of telling the Toziers that Eddie could no longer see Richie, but upon seeing her son’s teary eyes and how he clung to Richie like a lifeline during this particular argument, she begrudgingly gave in and set an excessive amount of guidelines that Maggie and Went elected to dismiss entirely. 

When they first started, Eddie was absolutely mortified and could barely make it off the pool steps. It was only when Richie leapt into the deep end that he informed Maggie that he was ready to get in the water-- primarily because he wanted to be able to swim next to Richie in the deep end. She and Went took turns holding the small boy upward since he was terrified of water getting up his nose-- insistent that if even a drop got up there he would probably die of pneumonia or some plague. Richie, always the one to reassure his friends, showed Eddie how fun it was to go under water once he paddled over to Eddie in the shallow end.

“It looks really cool!” Richie had told him. “I think? I can’t see shit right now.”

“Richie!” Maggie had scolded. Richie had started picking up swears more often-- not simply from being home where Maggie and Went occasionally dropped swears in front of him but also because middle schoolers often hung out around Derry Elementary and found it hilarious to hear high-pitched children screaming ‘ _ Fuck!’  _

The day she had picked up Richie and Eddie and witnessed her son shouting obscenities while a bunch of pre-teens laughed hysterically had been rather interesting and nearly gave her an aneurysm 

“Sorry.” Richie shrugs. “You just gotta make sure you don’t suck any water in and you’ll be okay! If you do some, it’s okay. It just kinda hurts.” He took Eddie’s hands away from Maggie and Went and immediately Eddie panicked, not realizing he could easily stand where Richie had pulled him.

“You’re okay!” Richie says, standing himself straight. “See!” Eddie flushes slightly at the realization, looking slightly less panicked.

“I don’t wanna get sick.” Eddie mumbles.

“You won’t!” Richie reassures him, “I swim everyday! Now, we can both go under together, okay? Count of three?”

“Okay.” Eddie says, wrapping his hands so tightly around Richie’s that Maggie is almost convinced he’s about to break her son’s fingers. She can see a slight flicker of pain in Richie’s face but she knows he would never do anything to jeopardize Eddie’s sense of comfort, even if it meant shattering his fingers. 

“Take a deep breath on three, okay?” Richie starts bouncing on the pool floor, beaming at his friend. “One… two…” Eddie inhales deeply. “Three!” They both sink below the surface.

“Well, I guess Richie is Eddie’s incentive to learn all this.” Went chuckles, waiting for the boys to come back up.

Richie comes up first, coughing slightly, soon followed by Eddie who is beaming excitedly. Maggie notes with interest that Eddie, who supposedly has weak lungs and is constantly puffing on an inhaler the moment he gets slightly nervous, is breathing more easily than her son. Granted, Richie had been in and out of the pool since breakfast, but still this unsettles her. She files that in the back of her mind. Something uncomfortable stirs in her brain, trying to tell her something, but she wants to think she is wrong and that  _ no  _ mother could ever be that deranged-- not in Derry. Derry is a simple, safe smalltown. Sure, there’s an abundance of ignorant folk that are not afraid to make nasty remarks about certain groups of people, but that’s all smalltowns. Derry is not home to monsters.

“I did it!” Eddie cheers, his brown eyes bright with excitement and pride.

“You did!” Maggie encourages, picking him up. “That wasn’t too scary, huh?”

“No! It  _ did  _ look cool. Kinda blurry.” 

“We can get you some goggles once we get you doggy paddling at the least.” Went suggests. 

“They need to make goggles for people with shitty eyes.” Richie grumbles. 

“Richie!” Maggie once again scolds, very little heat behind her words.

“Sorry.” The boy snorts, kicking back against the wall and toward the middle of the pool. He really is a little waterbug. 

It does not take long to get Eddie to the deep end. Went was correct that using Richie as an incentive would make teaching Eddie infinitely easier. They often made Richie a point for Eddie to try and swim to and more often than not, Eddie would frantically kick his way toward the boy.

He spends nearly every day at the Toziers during that summer. His skin takes on a healthy tan that Maggie rarely sees on the boy--given that Sonia frequently quarantines the boy-- and a delicate dusting of freckles to add onto the ones that naturally sprinkle his soft cheeks. Richie spends summer perpetually sunburned and peeling despite the liberal amount of sunscreen they slather on the boy; a gene that is definitely from Went’s side of the family. Maggie enjoys summer nights where Went sits in her vanity chair and lets her eagerly peel the skin from his blood-red shoulders. She always cheers whenever she gets a real long, gnarly peel of skin. Richie is not as keen on this and always shakes his head away when she attempts to peel away the flaky skin on his shoulders. He whines when she even attempts to soothe his burnt skin with aloe. He does not get as annoyed when Eddie’s nurse-like instincts kick in and begins to fret over him.

By the start of July, Eddie is splashing with Richie, Bill, and Stan in the deep end and they’re all taking turns playing games of chicken, dunking one another, and staying in the water until their fingers are pruny and eyes bloodshot from opening their eyes under the chlorine-infused water. There is rarely a sunny day that goes by without Richie and one of his friends spending at least two hours in the water. 

The other change that Maggie cannot help but laugh at is the fact that Eddie is hitting his first growth spurt before the other boys. She did not notice this until the four were lined up by the deep end of the pool, ready to pounce into a race. He is about an inch taller than Richie and Stan who stand at similar heights and barely half an inch taller than Bill. Once Maggie and Andrea point this out to the boys one afternoon, Eddie absolutely  _ relishes  _ in it seeing as he has always been the “small one.” He begins picking fun at the other boys-- specifically Richie who simply tells him to kiss his butt (or ass when he thinks Maggie and Went cannot hear him). 

Maggie knows this development will not be everlasting. Sonia is rather short and she had seen Frank a handful of times prior to really knowing Sonia beyond her neuroticism and sharp (misinformed) insults and knows Eddie comes from a family of people slightly below average or just-average height. He is definitely blooming a little early. Her and Went stand rather tall and somewhere in the depths of Went’s bloodline, there’s a handful of men that stood over 6’5”. Maggie knows Richie is going to be a complete beanstalk once his elementary school days are over. Despite this, she definitely encourages Eddie to playfully rib on the other boys at every given opportunity. Someone has to fuel the feisty, firecracker energy she had sensed in the boy when he had just befriended her son and she knows his own mother certainly will not . 

Another, more future-oriented change was Richie’s teeth. After Richie continued losing teeth after knocking the one out on the playground, he started losing his baby teeth quite rapidly. There was one month where Maggie could swear that the “tooth fairy” had to visit the boy at least once a week. After the rapid loss of most of his teeth and a rather goofy first grade school picture, his adult teeth began to grow in… crooked. 

He definitely had a bit of an overbite and his front two teeth sat on the inside bit of his bottom lip so often that Maggie could tell that it was raw whenever he opened his mouth wide enough. There was also some crowding on his bottom set. Some of his teeth were coming in every which way and on top of one another. Went was already calculating the cost of braces that he figured should be put on the boy by the time he entered his teens-- something Maggie  _ hated  _ thinking about. Even with the discount Went would get with the orthodontist that he was rather close with given that he always sent his patients his way and the man always sent his over to him, the hefty cost of a device as barbaric as braces puzzled Maggie. It wouldn’t really hurt them much seeing as they were financially well, but it was still an expense their future selves would be moaning about. 

Maggie did not particularly enjoy any conversation pertaining to Richie’s inevitable braces-- but seeing as her husband’s entire career revolved around teeth, it was frequently a topic on interest. She did not really care about the fact that Richie needed braces-- she knew he would look positively adorable-- it was again, the idea of him, hell him and all of his friends that she saw as her own growing up. Sure, they were seven and barely full people at this point, but the changes in their mannerisms, expressions, and obviously their physical forms made her heart twist. It was significantly harder to ignore these feelings since the Denborough family had announced that they would be welcoming a new member of the family by the new year. Maggie felt a twinge of jealousy that they were getting to relive the precious stages of infancy that went by too fast. Then she remembered labor. The jealousy, while still there, dwindled slightly. 

It was truly hard, but also mesmerizing to witness her four boys grow. The other change the family experienced was the result of the four boys-- not that Maggie would admit it-- in the form of a SUV to replace Maggie’s smaller car. When Maggie suggested trading in her car to Went, he immediately knew it was because the car was becoming a tighter squeeze for the four growing boys, but Maggie insisted that it was because they had been talking plans of having a family road trip with the Uris family in the next few years. Went knew better, but knew to simply laugh at her and not say a word. He liked the idea too. 

The summer had been rather eventful and one that Maggie enjoyed greatly, but of course all great things had to come to an end when she drove Richie to school for his first day of second grade. He was a bottle of energy, practically vibrating in his seat. He was genuinely excited as Stan was in his class for the very first time this year! First grade had been a year for him and Bill to become closer-- and to get in trouble with their bickering and incessant chatter. Eddie and Bill were best friends to Richie, yes, but Stan still stood a quarter step higher than the other boys. She knew, however, that Richie’s relationship with Eddie was special in a different way and she felt like she knew  _ why  _ Eddie was so special to Richie. She was not going to say it out loud given that he was just seven. However, she did tell Went to stop making jokes about Richie’s future wife. He apologized and smiled at her. He had the same feeling.

Richie waffled on about everything he was excited for in this new school year. Maggie interjected every now and then, not wanting to speak too much seeing as she was feeling exceptionally sentimental that morning. Once she pulled up to the entrance, Richie leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek, grabbing his lunch (because she reminded him just as he opened the car door), and sprinted toward the doors. Since he was no longer a “baby kindergartener,” there was no need for her to walk him to his classroom. She was somewhat thankful for that when she left, feeling rather emotional. God, it was no wonder Richie was such a ball of drama and intense emotions-- he truly came by it honestly. 

Maggie ended up spending a good twenty minutes composing herself before finally making it into Went’s practice. When she lamented her feelings to Went during lunch, he laughed at her and hugged her from behind, resting his chin on her head in a not uncomfortable manner. 

“Maggie, you’re overestimating our son.” Went teased. “He’s never gonna grow up.”

“Hush. Those boys are growing up too fast and I don’t like it.” She huffed, flicking him in the cheek from beneath his head.

“Ow!” He yiped, before lifting himself off of her and sitting in front of her, where she immediately placed her feet in his lap. “Is this about them getting old or us? Thirty is right around the corner, Mags.”

“No, jackass.” Maggie giggles. “I am just sensitive today.”

Went pauses for a moment, counting on his fingers. “Oh, makes sense. Next week is--”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Wow, I wonder where Richie got his mouth from.”

xXx

The first day of second grade was different. Maggie was used to seeing her four boys on the playground, engaged in some game whilst waiting for their parents. They were not there. This caused her heart to pick up its pace as panic erupted within her. She decided to walk inside and to the cafeteria, where most kids waited and was surprised to find them there. She would have been less shocked to discover the four boisterous boys had gone off on some worldwide expedition. They never liked being inside. 

Eddie immediately caught her eye, tugged on Richie’s short sleeves and said something to him before they stood to leave. They exchanged goodbyes with Stan and Bill who wore slightly less excitable expressions than she was used to seeing from them. Maybe second grade truly was an exhausting experience on their delicate seven-year-old minds. 

“Hi mama!” Richie greets, looking over his shoulder before holding onto her hand. Eddie does the same, before grabbing her other hand. 

“How was school?”

“It was good.” Richie says, shoulders tensing and voice wavering.

He’s lying.

“It doesn’t sound like it was too good.”

“I dunno. It’s different.” He mumbles, eyes casting downward as he buckles himself into the back.

“Yeah.” Eddie chimes in. “It was good, though.”

“Alright, but if anything is bothering you, tell me.”

She hears the sound of a soft squabble as she focuses her attention on the road before her. She has a sour feeling in her stomach. She wants to press the issue more, opening her mouth to speak before Richie interrupts her.

“Can Eddie, Stan, and Bill come over to swim?” Richie asks.

They had initially planned on covering the pool when September rolled around, but seeing as the summer humidity showed zero signs of letting up, they elected to leave it open until the air dropped below seventy. 

“I don’t see why not. Eddie, I’ll swing by your house and let your mom know while you grab your suit.”

“Okay!” Immediately the tone has changed and the two are back to their normal selves, giggling and playfully teasing one another. 

Perhaps she was overthinking this. She had a tendency to do that. She hoped that was the case.

xXx

**October 1983**

Richie marched up to her one Saturday, a look of determination written across his face. She met his eyes, smiling from her seat at the kitchen table. She had allowed the mail to pile up this past week and was finally getting around to organizing it.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” She says, a laugh tickling her lips at the serious face that definitely does not fit her son’s face.

“I want my hair cut.” He says, “It’s girly.” He tugs at the curls for emphasis. His hair really isn’t that long. It’s at a length that really suits his face that seems to be growing out of the roundness all kids have and into an angular one that matches hers. 

“I like your hair, sweetie. It looks really good on you.” She laughs, mussing it with her fingers. 

He bats her hand away, something that genuinely shocks her. Richie has _never_ rejected any form of affection, especially any from his mother. “I don’t like it. I want it short… like everyone else’s.”

_ There it is,  _ Maggie thinks to herself. A desire to fit in with his peers. Did that really start as early as second grade? “Your hair is special, Richie. You don’t have to look like everyone else.”

Went steps in from the backyard, his jeans slightly dirty from his time spent raking leaves. She is thankful that he thought to take his boots off on the porch seeing as she just mopped the floors. 

“I want my hair short.” He points to Went. “Like Daddy’s.”

“I don’t think you should. You have your mom’s face, Rich.” Went says.

“Went!” Maggie smacks him in the stomach, narrowing her eyes at him. 

Richie doesn’t seem to notice this and simply repeats his request.

“He wants his hair to be like all the other boys in his class.” Maggie informs him. 

“Aw Rich,” Went laughs, “You don’t have to do that. You’re special.”

“No. It’s girly. I don’t want it.” He crosses his arms over his chest, sticking his lip out. 

“You sure?” Maggie asks, her heart lurching at the thought of Richie having his curls chopped away.

“Yes.” 

Maggie sighs, looking up at Went. “You think I could get a walkin at the hairdresser?”

“Mags, I don’t think we should let him.”

“No!” Richie snaps, something  _ extremely  _ uncharacteristic of him. Richie never fights back when he does not get his way. He has always accepted it rather graciously. The flared nostrils and clenched jaw are far from the kind faced boy they are used to. “I want it  _ off!”  _

“Richard Wentworth,” Went starts, not allowing his voice to sound too aggressive nor raising it too much. His voice is simply firm-- something he never has to do around Richie. “You do  _ not  _ talk like that to either of us.”

“It’s  _ my  _ hair!” Richie yells back, tears of frustration pooling in his eyes. 

“Mags, you’re not taking him.” Went says bluntly before turning back to Richie. “You’re being very mean right now. I don’t know why you’re acting out like this, but until we get that stopped, we aren’t doing _ anything _ .”

“That’s stupid.” Richie growls as tears begin to roll down his cheeks.

“Room.” Maggie orders. Richie simply sniffles and stomps his way back upstairs.

“That was something.” Went breathes out, shaking his head and placing his hands on his hips.

“That it was.” Maggie says, her eyes flickering upward where she knows Richie’s room is. “I don’t know what got into him.”

“I mean… he’s been giving me attitude for a while now.” Went admits. “He got mad at me when I told him to finish his homework before going to Stan’s the other night and kicked the door. I shouldn’t have let it slide as much as I did… but I-I thought he was just cranky.”

“No, that makes sense. This isn’t like him.” Maggie says, sighing. “I think we should let him cut his hair though.”

“Why? He’s acting out. We shouldn’t give in to that kind of shit. And plus it’s not going to look right on his face.”

Maggie shrugs. “It’s clearly bothering him and maybe he’ll see what he looks like with short hair and realize he doesn’t need to look like everyone else. I mean it  _ is  _ hair. It will grow back.”

“Ah. We’re using  _ that  _ tactic.” Went chuckles. 

“I mean we can’t always force him in the right direction.” Maggie says. “Let him be wrong for once. I mean my mom let me dye my hair platinum once.”

“Oh no.” Went snorts. Maggie looks good with her blonde hair that has natural highlights, but there is absolutely no way platinum blonde would fit with the warm undertones of her skin. 

“Now that takes even longer to fix. I wasn’t allowed to dye it back and just dealt with the process of having it grow out.” 

“I hope he asks for a mohawk one day.” 

“Okay, that’s where I draw the line.” Maggie giggles a bit at that. She sighs. “He smacked my hand away when I went to touch him earlier.”

_ “What?”  _ Went looks genuinely startled at this information. 

“Yeah.” She chokes slightly. “Is he really at the point where he’s embarrassed by that? He’s seven.”

“No. There is no excuse for that.” Went sighs. “I’ll talk to him.” 

“Alright. Don't be too hard on him.”

“Have you ever heard me get mad at anyone?”

“When we were on the highway to--”

“Doesn’t count.” Went claims, shedding off his jacket and draping it over a chair. “I’ll be back, hopefully with a less aggressive Rich.”

“Good luck.”

Maggie drops her head in his hands, and goes for the phone. In her seven years as a mother, she has not once dealt with anything like this. She knows Stan is significantly more sassy than Richie has ever been so she decides to make a call to Andrea Uris to see if she has any advice when it comes to attitude problems. Instead, she receives interesting information regarding Stan’s behavior. Apparently he’s been quieter and more withdrawn. One day, when she went to pick him up, he started crying in the car and asked if he could stop being Jewish. That had clearly upset Andrea and she had tried to get an answer as to why he felt like this and all she got in return was a bunch of non-answers from the small boy. 

“Jesus.” Maggie says, pinching her temples as a headache begins to build. 

“Who’s that?” Andrea halfheartedly jokes before sighing. “I’m at a loss right now.”

“I am too. I have some suspicions and I’m going to try and figure it out here soon. I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I.”

Maggie hears Went’s flatfooted steps padding down the stairs as he talks softly to a sniffling boy. “Hopefully this gets settled soon. I’ll talk to you later, I think Went got Rich to settle down.”

She hangs up just as Went walks in. Richie’s eyes are red and he looks absolutely pathetic. Went sets him down and he immediately goes to Maggie and holds his arms up for her to hug him. She wraps her arms around him, grunting slightly as she picks him up. 

“I’m sorry for being a meanie.” His voice, although croaky, is genuine. “I love you.”

“Thank you, Richie. I forgive you.” She wipes stray tears from under his glasses. “What was wrong?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs, looking down. He’s lying. She wants to call him out but decides against it. “I just want my hair short. It’s… it’s hot.” Another lie. Richie always complains about being cold. 

Maggie sighs, twisting her fingers through the hair that holds the same bounce hers does. “If that’s what you want right now, then we’ll go.”

“I do.” He says with a nod. “Thank you.” He hugs her again. 

xXx

The hairdresser’s eyes nearly bugged out when they informed her how much they wanted off. She started telling Maggie how people wish to have Richie’s hair and that cutting it would be an absolute crime. She also informs Maggie that his hair is well suited to his face, as if Maggie cannot clearly see that. She goes on about the type of face shape Richie is growing into, again as if his own mother is not fully aware of this fact, and goes on about how short hair will not compliment that by any means. Maggie simply sighs and says it’s what he wants. The stylist goes to work and does her best to give him a style that is mildly decent. 

Richie’s new hair does not suit his face. It’s not poorly done by any means. If it were someone else, it might look quite nice. On Richie it makes his face look shapeless and awkward. It’s short around his ears and it truly looks like there is a mop on his head. Most of his curls fell to the floor beneath the chair and the sight nearly made Maggie cry. There is still a curl to his hair around the edges, but nothing like what his hair does when it’s properly grown out. 

Maggie does not inform her son that it is not flattering. She calls him handsome and hands him a lollipop that she took from the jar at the front of the shop. He’s still cute, but the cut makes his head look somewhat misshapen and she can only hope this mop-like hairstyle is a quick phase that Richie grows out of as this current cut grows out. She has a feeling this is going to stick with him for a while.

xXx

**November 1983**

Weeks pass, and the attitude changes within the four boys persist and continue to worsen. Eddie is jumpier. Stan is shameful. Bill is stuttering more. Richie is insecure. Maggie and the other mothers have talked about all of this in detail while their boys elect to play inside as opposed to running around outside like they used to. Maggie suggests that the boys are being bullied multiple times to the other mothers and is immediately shut down because there is no way they wouldn’t report the tormentor to a teacher. Plus, their sons would have confided in them by now.

Richie is constantly snapping out of the blue and pushing away any physical attention. What hurts her the most is when he cries on the couch asking why her and Went got to look nice and he was ugly. Maggie had not seen him act in such a way since he had last seen his cousins. Maggie knew this sudden resurgence in self-hate was the result of someone else’s sharp tongue and she had given Richie multiple opportunities to tell her what was wrong but she was coming to the end of her rope in finding a way to confirm her beliefs. 

Maggie comes to the realization that she is right when she goes to pick up Richie and Eddie from school. She walks inside, seeing as they continue to wait inside rather than sitting on the playground, playing some game Bill has created. She misses watching them run around freely in the grass. She expects to see them around the normal crowd of kids waiting for their parents and is surprised that he is not there. None of the boys are. Something doesn’t sit right with her. She knows something happened. 

She wanders out of the cafeteria and is about to go to the front office to try and find her son when she hears Stan’s voice coming from behind the bathroom doors. She cannot make out what he is saying but he is using the same voice he uses anytime Richie’s clumsiness makes itself known. 

She knocks on the door, “Stan, is that you? It’s Richie’s mom.”

The soft chattering halts and the door creaks open, revealing a somewhat disheveled looking Stan. 

“Are Richie and Eddie with you?”

“Yeah… I’ll get them.” He turns back around, allowing the door to shut. 

She hears Eddie’s shrill voice shout that something is still broken. There’s some arguing clearly happening and she decided to knock again. Bill and Stan walk out and are soon followed by Richie and Eddie. Richie hangs his head in shame and Eddie is holding a pair of broken glasses that he has clearly attempted to repair with some of the bandaids he carries in his fanny pack. 

“Sorry.” Richie mumbles, lifting his head up. She spies a colorful bruise blooming next to his eye which is narrowed into a slit as his glasses are clearly in need of replacing and he is left with his rather pathetic eyesight.

“Who is bullying you four?” She immediately asks, kneeling to their level. 

“No one.” Richie says, shoulders tensing. He is clearly embarrassed.

“Who is bullying you four?” She asks again.

Eddie looks at Richie. Richie shakes his head. 

Bill speaks up. “H-Henry Bowers and h-his friends.” 

“The fourth grader?” She questions, wanting to be sure that she has the right kid in mind.

The four boys hesitate before nodding together.

“This has been happening since the first day, hasn’t it?” She asks even though she knows the answer and  _ has known _ the answer. 

“Yeah.” Stan admits. 

Maggie sighs, taking the glasses from Eddie. “Guess we’re gonna be needing new ones of these, huh?”

“Yeah.” Richie mumbles. “They were callin’ Eddie names and I yelled at ‘em so Patrick threw a rock at me and it broke my glasses.” He starts sniffling, rubbing at his eyes shamefully.

“Hey, no. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

Eddie hugs Richie around the shoulders as Richie starts choking up. “But it makes me a loser.” 

“No it doesn’t. They’re mean boys.” Maggie rubs his cheek gently. “Did you tell a teacher?”

“No… we c-couldn’t.” Richie chokes out a slight laugh and Bill’s face blushes. “Bill threw it back and hit Henry in the nuts.”

She elects to ignore Richie’s foul mouth this time. “Thank you for that, Bill. You were right to not say anything, then. They would have wanted to punish Bill too.” She smiles weakly at them. “Have you told on them before?”

“Yeah,” Eddie answers. “No one does anything though ‘cause his dad’s a cop.” 

That is not surprising to her in the slightest. Butch Bowers is the chief of police and could make anyone’s life miserable if he wanted. He could find a reason to have your car impounded or fine you the maximum amount for the smallest infraction. No one, especially someone with a teacher’s salary wanted to endure the wrath that came with punishing his son and his friends. Although Maggie had a feeling that Butch wasn’t exactly thrilled with his son’s existence in the first place. However, having to sign a detention slip or come after school would just mean more work for him as a parent and frustrate him enough to go out of his way to inconvenience the poor teacher that reprimanded his son. Unfortunately, she could not blame the staff for being too fearful to punish the boy… even if it had come at her own son’s expense. It upset her, yes, but it was somewhat understandable.

Maggie sighs and as she is about to speak, she sees a panicked Andrea sprint down the hall. Clearly she is going through the same thing Maggie had when she first discovered that the boys were not in the cafeteria. She immediately relaxes at the sight before her but the calm is quickly replaced with concern.

“What’s going on?” Andrea asks as Maggie stands up.

“Henry Bowers and his friends have been tormenting our boys since the first day of school.”

“Wait, what?” She is shocked, having previously insisted that this could not be the case. “Stanley, why didn’t you say something.” She immediately winces at her words. “I am so sorry, honey.”

“They were embarassed by it and given that Butch is chief of police, none of the staff are exactly keen on punishing them.” 

“Oh, boys… there is nothing to be embarrassed about.” Andrea reassures, pulling Stan close.

“Big ol’ Bill here decided to fight back today.” Maggie laughs despite the severity of the situation. Went’s inability to maintain a professional composure for more than five minutes has definitely rubbed off on her in their years as a couple. “Patrick Hocksetter threw a rock at Richie.” She lifts up the broken glasses which causes Andrea’s eyes to widen in shock. “Bill tossed it back and…” she glances at Richie who is starting to giggle at the memory. Success.

“He hit Henry Bowers in the nuts!” 

“Oh my,” Andrea snorts. “I shouldn’t say this, but good job, Bill.” 

Bill is clearly delighted by this praise. Good. The boys need to have their egos boosted.

“I know I shouldn’t say this,” Maggie says. “Clearly the teachers aren’t going to do anything about this and I don’t think those boys will ever stop being nasty anyway.” She glances at each boy. “I think if you can fight back, do it.” 

Andrea, always the pacifist, considers this before agreeing. “Mrs. Tozier is right. If you can, fight back. Do not go out of your way to get hurt by them, but if you can retaliate in order to protect yourself or each other, do it. Okay?”

The boys seem tickled by the idea of continuing the streak of bravery that Bill had started and quickly nod at the suggestion. 

xXx

Maggie drives Eddie home and lets him know that if he ever needs help to let her know. He nods excitedly and tells Richie he will see him tomorrow and quickly hugs him before running to his own mother. 

Maggie then turns out of the neighborhood and begins the drive to the eye doctor in order to replace Richie’s glasses. It’s not the first time he’s had to have his glasses replaced. He’s broken quite a few with his clumsiness and had broken them earlier in the school year. He never gave her a solid answer as to what had happened but she can only assume it was because of Bowers. She decided that this time she would ask if they could have a spare pair because there was no doubt in her mind that the bullying was going to continue. Might as well be prepared.

She wished she could do more, but her hands were tied given that Henry had an advantage with his dad’s status. Richie’s father was simply the primary dentist in Derry. Maybe she could convince him to extract some of Henry or his friend’s teeth or give him a root canal without enough novocaine. That sounded extremely appealing, but she did not want to see Went’s license revoked or his name tarnished. 

“So Richie,” Maggie starts. She knows this conversation will bring back some of the negative emotions Richie had expressed outside of the boy’s restroom. “What kind of stuff did Henry say or do to you?”

“Um… just called me names and stuff.” He shifts uneasily.

“Can you be more specific? If not, that’s okay.”

“He calls me a frog a lot ‘cause my glasses… and makes fun of my teeth.” He starts gnawing on his fingernail and swallows thickly as if he’s about to get sick. Richie always gets an upset stomach anytime he’s nervous. “He made fun of my hair lots too. Said I looked like a girl.”

“Was that why you wanted it cut?” She questions. It made sense to her. Richie did have some more-feminine features that were beginning to dominate his face as the childish softness slowly (but too quickly for her liking) left his face and his bone structure slowly fell into place which was accentuated by the longer curls that had been cut away. It had looked nice against his face, but she knew that was something her son would not be able to accept as a child.

“Yeah.” He sighs. He tugs at it slightly. 

“Do you want to grow it back out?”

“No.” He shakes his head rapidly. “I wanna leave it like this for now.” That indicated he could potentially change his mind in the future. That was promising to her.

“That’s alright, sweetie. Anything else?”

“He pushes me sometimes and his friends will throw stuff at all of us lots.” His face twists slightly. “Mom? What’s a faggot?”

She blanches at that. “Why?”

“Henry said me and Eddie were faggots.” Richie says. “I don’t know what it is but I know it’s no good.”

“It isn’t. It is a very mean word.” She knows what is meant with the word but doesn’t want to explain that to a seven-year-old. Not right now. “I don’t want you ever saying that, okay?”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, honey. You did nothing wrong. Henry Bowers is nothing but white trash. You are a nice boy with a good heart and good friends and a good family. Anything he says is and do not repeat this,  _ bullshit.” _

Richie chuckles behind his hands at that. “Okay, mama. Thank you.”

xXx

**December 1983**

Unfortunately the bullying does not cease. Maggie did not expect it to. None of the parents did. Their boys still came home scraped up and occasionally teary eyed when a particular comment hit them a little harder. However, they had each shifted back into their old selves. Eddie was back to his feisty self. Stan began utilizing his sharp wit to snap back at the gang that collectively shared a barely functioning, prejudice brain cell. Bill continued to be brave for the entire group and when anyone was shoved down or teased, he was not afraid to stammer a stream of insults back or throw something back. He never got too close to them. After all, Bowers and his friends were all significantly bigger than the four second graders. 

Richie was no longer falling into fits of rage or hysteria. He had shifted back into his motormouth self that made his friends and family laugh. He did, however, sometimes get out of the car and immediately demand to be held by his mother despite the fact that it was growing increasingly harder for her to do so. She knew those were the days that something dug a little deeper. She rarely pressed for an answer, knowing it made him uncomfortable and simply held him on the couch until he felt better enough to do his homework or see one of his buddies. 

She truly admired their resilience. They protected each other in the halls and had established a buddy system of sorts when it came to handling their bullies. Maggie and Went hated that it had to come to that, but there was not much that could be done. She had reported the bullying to the school and even brought in Richie’s broken glasses. Nothing was done. The most the school ever did was make Henry and his friends stand at the line during recess and never tried to stop him when he threw insults and slurs at other kids.

Maggie always knew Richie would be a prime target for teasing. With the combination of a skinny body, big glasses, and wonky teeth, it was like a target was painted on his back. But what made him and his friends significantly vulnerable, was the fact that they were such nice and interesting kids. They were creative kids that had aspirations already. They were intelligent and had distinctive personalities that did not necessarily align with other kids their age. They were kind to adults and went out of their way to ensure that their loved ones were cared for. That was something that many kids, especially Henry Bowers and his cronies, could not wrap their heads around. They did not see it as an asset. They saw it as a defect. Something that made them losers. Maggie was proud of the boys. If those qualities made them losers or whatever, she hoped they stayed losers. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Whatever, my braincell went on vacation this weekend. On a brighter note, my dog turns 3 in 2 days. 
> 
> Also fun fact: I did something similar with my hair that made my mom cry. I had super long hair that was always tangled. I was absolutely sick of it. While my dad slept in the waiting room, my 7 year old ass told the hairdresser to chop my hair to my chin. It looked cute but oh shit was my mom UPSET. My dad was pissed... mainly because a hairdresser listened to a 7 year old without any input from a parent. whoops.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't stop listening to Moral of the Story by Ashe and it has me hype to fuckin wreck Reddie in later chapters. Ahah. And by wreck I just mean abuse Richie's tendency to be an emotional fuck. I know he's an Pisces but bitch definitely has some Cancer in him. 
> 
> So a few things inspired this chapter. I have had this story outlines in my phone since the start of 2020 because I got sad during a car ride and when I'm sad my brain becomes mildly creative? ANYWAY, this wasn't even in the list I had written out and so far I've actually followed said list to a tee from chapter 1. 
> 
> I recently learned that peanut allergies can start literally at any age. I always knew people could develop allergies or grow out of them but I was not aware of that being the case for food allergies because I am an uneducated sack of shit... and all the food allergies in my family all started at birth so yeah. Also, Bill Hader has a peanut allergy and lets be real Adult!Richie is Bill Hader. We all intertwine their lives. It's a fact. SO I thought of this and an idea came to my head regarding something I alluded to earlier in this story and I realized, BITCH YOU GOT SOMETHING HERE IF YOU REFERENCE THIS IN A FUTURE FUTURE CHAPTER.
> 
> So... lets see if you nuggets catch it when the time comes. ehehehehe. If you give a fuck. I don't know. Here's some corny bullshit written by a 21 year old asshole. :) This one was kind of difficult to write because I really had no direction and kinda mucked up the majority of this one and it infuriates me to no end. It's definitely crack-y and random and really doesn't flow as well as I would want it too???? But.... like? Sorry? Whatever??? Don't roast me too hard and again, if you wanna skip till we hit big Loser era, I GOT YOU BABE. WE GONNA BE THERE IN 2 CHAPTERS. :)

Maggie knew the first moment of bliss was not going to last. 

**June 1984**

Although Richie and his friends would deny it, Maggie was certain that she was infinitely more excited that summer had finally reared its delightfully warm head in Derry than any of the children that had been counting down the days till they could officially dump their backpacks out, sleep past noon, and run around the neighborhood with their friends till dusk. Unfortunately, summer did not mean that Maggie could also do those things, although it meant she could sit by the pool with lemonade and work on her tan with some of the (tolerable) mothers of her son’s best friends. No, summer was just incredibly welcome after the hellscape that the past winter and spring had been for the Tozier family. Nothing horribly drastic had happened. They still had their house. Went’s practice was still thriving. She and Went still did not feel elderly or experience a sudden change in their objectively fit physiques upon turning thirty-- as she had initially feared. No. Everything that made the previous months a shithole was simply a result of an abundance of incessant inconveniences that frayed her nerves. 

Logically she knew that such misfortunes may continue and would not immediately cease with warming temperatures and tanned skin. However, summer, to her, was going to serve as the start of a potentially better half of a year since the first half decided to be, for a lack of a better term, a shitshow. Additionally, even if she was subject to more mishaps over the summer, it would be better to endure such hardship when the air was warm and the sun was bright. Nothing irked her more than dealing with adverse conditions when the air physically hurt her face and the sky was perpetually grey and dark before four.

The year kicked off at her mother’s place. Richie, unfortunately healthy and unable to get chicken pox again, made it so Went and Maggie could not devise an adequate excuse as to why they could not spend the holidays with her mother, her shit sister, her newest boyfriend of three weeks, and spawn children. It was the first year in a while since Maggie did not spend the holidays with the Uris family in their living room, chattering away whilst the two boys played with new Christmas and Hanukkah toys and ran around the neighborhood with their buddies. In essence, it was the first year that Maggie, Went, and Richie would not enjoy the holiday season. The only appealing part of the holiday was seeing her mother, who doted endlessly on Richie. This was evident in the obvious inequality of gift distribution between Richie and his cousins on Christmas morning. Although this pleased Maggie, she had a feeling this would fester into bullying later in their visit. Despite loving everything about Richie and keen on spoiling the small boy, Maggie’s mother was saddened to see that his curls had been cut away in his persistent state of insecurity induced by Bowers and his gang.

Richie had grown used to being bullied-- something Maggie hated to admit but knew she could not change. However, he had gotten used to having a group of reliable friends to back him up and fuel the confidence and spunk he was slowly developing. He had not been subject to spending alone time with tormentors for quite a while nor had he been around his nasty cousins for quite a while. Upon arriving, Maggie had optimistically hoped that perhaps Linda had managed to turn her kids into relatively decent human beings since their last encounter. That had been a pipe dream. Jenna, David, and Daniel were still just as rotten as they had been when Richie first met them.

She did her best to keep him away from the trio of brats by allowing him to help make Christmas dinner and holding him on her lap during New Years. However, despite her attempts, the three appeared to make it a mission to elicit tears from the smaller boy at some point during their visit which resulted in a rather heated argument between Maggie and Linda while Went hurriedly packed the car and distracted Maggie’s mother from their seething words by making her laugh at his various impressions and the jokes he stowed away for awkward situations. 

As per usual, Richie was minding his own business whilst his mother was forced to leave him alone in the living room and Went was busy trying to clean up anything Maggie’s mother may have needed assistance with. He had been piecing together the new thousand-piece puzzle his grandmother had gifted him and keeping to himself when he was approached by the twins who had definitely missed tormenting the younger boy. They immediately went to pinching at him and kicking away his remaining pieces and destroying the significant progress he had made. Jenna of course chimes in and threw some cruel and nasty insults that were laced with a few slurs she had learned as a sixth grader. 

Of course, these were comments Richie did not quite understand, but the goal, which was hurting his feeling, was certainly achieved. He had attempted to get a few biting words back as he had discovered. Whilst defending Eddie against the Higgins boy, Which had discovered he was more than capable of retaliating against bullies if the tears of humiliation that had rolled down Higgin’s face was anything to go by. Unfortunately, anytime he attempted to snark back, his cousins simply spoke louder in order to drown out his remarks that were easily more intelligent and fact-based than anything they could have coined up. He knew where to hit them where it hurt and where they deserved it. But, much to his frustration, he could not utter a single word and was beginning to tremble with frustration and tears had started spilling from his eyes. Of course they felt satisfied by such a reaction and continued their incessant bullying by snatching his glasses off his reddened face and putting them far beyond his reach.

Unlike his cousins, Richie had yet to hit a major growth spurt. Hell, Maggie could not help but laugh at the fact that her son remained the shortest, along with Eddie, among his friends. Bill and Stan had surpassed both boys toward the second half of second grade and had plateaued slightly. Richie had yet to show any significant growth and that was becoming frustrating to him. He was convinced he was never going to grow. Obviously, his parents knew better and knew he would spend his adolescence and teens tall and gawky looking as they both had-- unless there was a gene for stunted growth that had skipped a few generations. Maggie doubted that but Went thoroughly enjoyed playfully teasing Richie about such ideas. 

Richie had been left essentially blind and began to panic as he was shoved around by three nasty blobs that were much too old to be fixated on bullying a second grader. He had attempted to hold his ground significantly longer than he ever had as a child before releasing a high pitched shout that brought Maggie darting into the room. She had been anticipating such commotion since their arrival and snarled a few words at the older three before picking her son up with mild difficulty and snatching his glasses from a tall bookshelf and taking him upstairs to cool down. 

Once Went took over her role of soothing the distressed boy, Maggie had immediately found Linda in the kitchen with their mother, both seemingly oblivious to the fact that Linda had truly birthed a trio of monsters. 

“Linda, I need your help.  _ Outside.” _ Maggie said through gritted teeth. She immediately unlocked her jaw, distantly hearing Went in the back of her head, warning her about the damage she could cause to her “impeccable pearly whites.”

“I’m working on dinner.” She responded lazily.

“Now.” Maggie ushered, grabbing her older sister’s hand and pulling her outside. “You need to get control of those three brats you call kids. Why can’t you attempt to teach them that teasing their younger cousin is something wrong?”

“ _ This  _ again? Is he seriously not capable of taking a joke,  _ still?”  _

“It’s not a joke when it’s three against one and they’re bullying him. Jenna is what? Twelve now? How is she not grown up enough to realize what she’s doing is mean.”

“Are you insinuating that my child isn’t mature?”

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Maggie knew it was a low blow but she went for it anyway, “Lets just hope your kids don’t end up peaking in high school, dropping out of college, lacking the ability to hold down a spouse because they drive everyone away, and live a life where they amount to nothing worthwhile and can do nothing but belittle their more successful sibling and child that is infinitely brighter than their kids.” 

Linda immediately lunged for her younger sister who easily dodged the physical attack and both launched into a furious argument at a volume their mother’s deteriorating hearing could not quite catch. 

The two sisters went back and forth for a long time while Went took initiative and began loading the car. He managed to keep Richie in the kitchen with Maggie’s mother and inform her that his presence was needed immediately at the office so they unfortunately had to leave. He quickly packed everything up and made sure to scold the three kids since their own mother was incapable of any form of discipline. They merely rolled their eyes and went back to their own devices. Maggie’s mother, oblivious to the tension, had an at-ease Richie on her kitchen counter stirring an alfredo sauce that he would unfortunately not get to enjoy as the Toziers were making the executive decision to remove themselves from the toxicity that Linda and her kids carried to every family gathering. Went desperately wished they could enjoy one visit since he genuinely enjoyed Maggie’s mother and goofing around with her. Sadly, he knew there truly was no mending the relationship that Maggie had with her sister and each visit would most likely come to the same conclusion with Maggie shaking with anger and Richie attempting to conceal the hurt he was feeling. 

Maggie, Richie, and Went each bid their farewells and made their way back to Derry. Maggie had talked Richie into a sense of ease and reassured him that he was none of the nasty words that his cousins had hissed at him. The only one she avoided consoling him about was the slurs regarding homosexuality. That was not something she wanted to create an aura of shame around. Never. Went merely derailed the conversation when Richie mentioned those types of insults and told him that he was incredibly bright and funny and had more personality than those “stick-in-the-mud jackasses” could ever imagine having. Maggie did not even have it in her to scold him for swearing in front of their son. 

It was certainly not how Maggie wanted to kick off the new year and it gave her a sour feeling in her stomach as to how the year was to progress for the Toziers. Unfortunately, Maggie seemed to know all when it came to her family and was right in having a sense of pessimism that was induced by a crummy winter break.

Not even a month after the vacation from hell, Richie developed a crippling fear of birds and would no longer want to accompany Stan to the park to birdwatch come spring. This was all entirely warranted however, and when Stan found out he was completely understanding… and as any best friend, laughed at Richie’s expense and would continue to tease him for it for years to come. 

A large blanket of snow and ice fell across Derry and froze the pipes in the elementary school, causing the school board to do something uncommon for Northeastern districts: Close. Not only was that a surprise, but they were forced to close for a  _ week _ because after the first day, one of the pipes burst and flooded the gymnasium. This was incredibly exciting for the children of Derry and had kids running around town in puffy snowsuits, throwing snowballs at each other, and sliding across unsalted sidewalks. This was somewhat hazardous seeing as most winter-related injuries among children were typically exclusive to the few hours of daylight that occurred after school letting out. During that week, children had all day to find interesting ways to get ice trapped in random crevices, chip their teeth (business was incredibly busy for Went that week), and breaking random limbs on slick surfaces. 

Because of this risk, Sonia refused to let Eddie spend any time with his friends. Maggie attempted to let her have him simply stay at their place for a “safe movie night,” but Sonia immediately snapped at her regarding the risks of driving or walking in such horrific weather and how she was a bad person for even making such a ghastly suggestion. He would have spent time with Bill and Stan, but Stan ended up with a rather nasty cold that left him feverish and unable to see his friends. Maggie’s heart went out for the poor boy seeing as he fell victim to a raspy cough and scratchy throat when he was blessed with a week off from school. Bill chose not to see his friends because his baby brother, Georgie’s birthday happened to fall during the week off and spent the days leading up to his special day decorating and wrapping gifts with his parents. This left Richie feeling rather glum and lonesome.

Maggie decided to take off from work that week and hated to see her boy so distraught. The third day of him wallowing and grumbling finally gave her an idea to try and cheer him up. He was sitting in front of a window, eyes fixed on a lone bird that seemed to miss the memo of flying to the south for the winter. He clearly identified with the feathered creature in that he felt incredibly alone. She hated seeing him so sullen and pulled him to the coat closet and forced him into a puffer coat, a poof-ball hat, and fleece-lined gloves. He initially protested, the residual crankiness as a result of being deprived of seeing his best friends getting the best of him. He eventually complied and ceased the weak pouting as she pulled on her own snow gear and pulled him into the deep fluff that covered their yard. 

She got him to run around through the yard and make snow angels with her. He was thrilled to throw snowballs at her, careful to avoid her face. He nailed her once in the cheek and nearly cried, convinced that he had hurt his mother. She laughed it off and simply pulled him into a deep snow pile which had him squealing as snow managed to slip under his scarf and chill his sensitive skin. She held his hand as they slid across the sidewalk next to their house, careful not to let him knock out his crooked front teeth. Went already had a well-written plan for Richie’s future braces and she did not want said plans to be thwarted by him chipping a tooth on the slippery sidewalks. They finished their fun with a lopsided snowman that had a pickle for a nose because Maggie needed carrots for the chicken noodle soup she was making for dinner. 

She was satisfied in getting him out of his funk and believed they were likely to end today on a positive note and would continue the trend through the remainder of the week. Unfortunately, upon reentering the house, Richie failed to close the door when he went back outside to put her and his boots on the porch as to not make an icy mess in the living room. Given his propensity to be forgetful and lose focus, he ran into the kitchen to start dinner with his mother. He had a newfound sense of energy and was more inclined to sit happily on the counter and stir the noodles and simmering broth while she prepped the veggies and chicken. 

After they finished the soup together, Maggie felt an unpleasant draft run up her spine. She moved the pot off the active burner and went to start on the small mess she and Richie (but mostly Richie) had created together before turning to the boy who was now starting to feel the same draft if the goosebumps decorating his arms was anything to go by.

“Honey? Can you check the windows and doors in the living room while I clean?”

“Okay, Mama.” He nods and hops off the counter before skipping off to the living room.

She is in the midst of wiping down the counter when she hears a shrill scream from the living room accompanied by an… animalistic squawk? 

She sprints into the living room where she sees Richie covering his head with his arms, eyes wide behind his glasses as he stares at the same  _ bird  _ that had been nestled near their window earlier that day. It was clearly distraught and flying in a confused pattern around the living room. A scream bubbled at her throat but she knew she had to keep her calm, especially when she noticed the state of Richie’s hair. It was definitely not  _ that  _ messy when he left the kitchen. Her suspicions as to why this occurred were immediately confirmed by his own shouts of distress

“IT WENT IN MY HAIR MOMMY!” Richie screed, pulling at his hair with his hands as if attempting to remove the sensation of a misplaced bird flying through fluffed curls, that were scheduled to be chopped once more and most likely seemed appealing to a bird that made the mistake of staying up north for a rather bitter winter. “I DON’T LIKE IT. GET IT OUT!”

The bird halted its erratic flight pattern and settled on the television set, its small head unnervingly still and eyes unblinking.

Maggie’s heart pounded furiously but her motherly instincts kicked in and she found herself somehow certain as to what she needed to do. She took note that the door was ajar, just large enough for the creature to enter. Unfortunately the stairs were close to the door and the last thing she needed was the small creature wreaking havoc up there. She put a finger to her lips, making eye contact with Richie who was quaking with fear. He went to open his mouth to exclaim his anxieties once more, but immediately bit down on his own tongue, burying his face into his hands whilst gripping his locks that had been wrongly ambushed by the bird.

She slowly crept toward the door and opened it wide, holding her breath as if one audible exhale would cause the bird to “attack” her son once more. She inched toward the kitchen, which caused Richie’s eyes to widen in fear-- fear that she was about to abandon him with the, in his (biased) opinion, violent critter. She simply put a hand up as he began to tense his shoulders, moving to make a run for it. At her gesture, he settled back into his cowering position. She quietly grabbed for a pot and lid before edging her way toward the unmoving creature. She felt as if it was making eye contact with her as she approached the TV, challenging her to move it. 

She had seen her mother do this once as a child when a bird got stuck in their basement-- which was significantly less horrific than the living room which was a place more frequented than a cold, damp basement. She lifted the pot slowly as to not startle the bird and slowly brought it over its head which caused it to move slightly making her muscles react instantly and she quickly closed the bird in a kitchenware prison. It immediately twittered loudly and began banging around the pot which she held her grip upon strongly. She slid the bird toward the edge of the entertainment center where she had the lid at the ready. Maneuvering the dish with a jumpy bird inside proved to be difficult, but she managed. She flipped it rightside up once she had the lid secure and quickly ran to the door where she decided to launch the entire pot into the snow rather than allowing it to calmly release it in fear that it would simply return back into the house. She sprinted back inside, hearing the bird squawk loudly from the yard as she slammed the door shut. Went could retrieve the pot later.

She leaned heavily against the door, body drained from the adrenaline expenditure of capturing and releasing a small animal. She quickly approached Richie, still rather traumatized by the bird flying through his hair, and kneeled in front of him. He quickly fell into her chest, wrapping his arms around her neck.

“All gone.” She says, breathless.

“I don’t really like birds anymore, mama.” She did not blame him. 

Not long after the bird fiasco, Went fell incredibly ill right after Richie’s 8th birthday. It started out as some basic nausea and dizziness. He had attempted to dismiss it and go to work. Maggie was not having it. She forced him into bed and asked the Uris family to take Richie to school that day because she knew something was incredibly off-- especially when Went easily complied to staying home when she called the office and informed them that they would have to rely on Went’s colleague for the day. It wasn’t even noon before Went was in the bathroom vomiting profusely and clutching at his abdomen. 

Maggie had sat behind him, a hand between his bony shoulder blades and took one look at the grey tone of his skin and knew it was time to go to the hospital. She knew it was pivotal that they go when she noticed how he was curling heavily toward the left as to alleviate any pressure on the right side of his stomach. She knew what that meant and she knew that it would mean Richie staying with the Uris family longer than she had initially planned. 

Went had become somewhat listless and put up no fight when she maneuvered his gangly form into the passenger side of his car and sped him to the ER. As expected, the doctor informed them that he had acute appendicitis and that they would have to operate.

Went opened his mouth to complain but when a sharp pain radiated up his side, he fell silent and simply bit at his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

Maggie sat by his side while they prepped him, twirling her fingers through his hair. She smiled a little at the slight thinning around his hairline that was induced by his own genetics and years of friction that came from him pushing his large hands through his hair whenever he was stressed. It was easy to be stressed when you owned a practice as young as Went had and when you had a son as exuberant as Richie. He closed his eyes under his touch and mumbled something about this being the lamest surgery anyone could have. 

Only her husband would be disappointed that he was sick with something not as life-threatening as a flesh-eating virus or an incurable plague. A mild surgical procedure and debilitating stomach pain and vomiting? Not enough for Wentworth Tozier. 

He was whisked away from her not long after and she found a phone to inform the Uris family of the situation.

“Oh my, Mags!” Andrea exclaimed. “I hope he’ll be okay.”

“Oh he should be. It’s a simple procedure. He’ll have to stay a night or two and be on bed-rest for the next week or so. We caught it early so there was no rupture or anything.”

“Well, until he’s well, we would be more than happy to keep Richie with us.” 

“And you still have a key, so if you want to go in and grab him some clothes for the rest of the week, that’s okay with me.”

“Will do… and I’ll be sure to lock the doors for you. Get some rest and tell Went that we hope he gets better soon.”

“Thank you so much, Andrea. I really appreciate it.” Maggie leaned against the wall, sighing gently, “I’ll try to phone you later tonight to talk to Richie and explain everything to him so he’s not too distressed. Thank you again.”

The surgery went relatively smoothly and without any complications. Despite this, it was certainly another obstacle that had to be faced. Richie had been rather distraught for his father, not really understanding the concept of a surgery that wasn’t a big deal seeing as he had just learned what surgery was and immediately associated it with the worst possible outcomes. He had been thrilled to see his father once Maggie deemed Went well enough to have their boisterous son back in the house. She wanted him home immediately after but knew he would be too eager to jump on his father for a loving hug and most likely pop his stitches under his knobby knees.

Went ended up being home for about a week and a half before returning to work. His face was still pale and slightly hollowed out in a way that bespoke of unexpected weight loss which was to be expected with the persistent nausea that came with the initial diagnosis and the side effects of the antibiotics he was prescribed for the next three weeks. He was certainly worn out and spent a few weeks feeling lethargic and less keen to be his usual active, hilarious self. This was a damper for Richie who was used to seeing his father full of life and energy-- but to Maggie’s surprise he took this in stride and made himself as useful and accommodating for his father as possible. He brought him iced water when he was dozing on the couch so he wouldn’t wake up feeling parched and would snuggle closely to his unstitched side which certainly made Went feel content. 

Following this disruption in their life, they experienced even more pitfalls that while significantly smaller, caused them a great deal of stress and served to make the first half of the year anything but pleasant. They had their mailbox bashed in by a baseball bat that was left abandoned at the scene of the crime. It had an H crudely carved into the wood leading Maggie and Went to believe it could only have been one nasty bully. There was no use in reporting it to the cops so they simply paid to have a sturdier one put in and Went made sure to give Richie a few school-appropriate ideas as to how to mess with the Bowers boy.

Along with a majority of Richie’s second-grade class, Richie ended up with a nasty case of lice. His was particularly frustrating to handle because he was always throwing himself around the house which meant Maggie and Went had to stuff a majority of their pillows and blankets into trash bags as to suffocate any bugs that may potentially be crawling about. His hair was also obscenely thick and required an abundance of washes which left him cranky and made the skin around his neck rather raw.  _ That  _ had been a nightmare.

Maggie spent most of May with her wrist in a small brace because she sprained it whilst climbing up the basement steps. She had been carrying a laundry basket up and failed to notice that a sock had fallen out of the side and tripped over it. Not only did her freshly folded clothes topple to the bottom of the steps, but her wrist made a nasty sound as she caught herself at an awkward angle. She felt incredibly embarrassed at her own clumsiness but pushed the feeling away as pain made itself known. She felt blessed that it was not a break, but still irritated that she had injured her dominant hand. It made life for a month incredibly hard and she could not do a variety of tasks without Went’s assistance. He did not mind helping by any stretch, but she hated feeling useless at any capacity. 

Clearly, the first half of the year had been unkind to the Toziers and Maggie felt relieved when summer rolled around. She felt so relieved that she decided to have a small pool party for Richie, his friends, and the parents that would not moan about the dangers of chlorine and swimming after eating within the last decade. She proudly wore her usual two-piece with a pair of denim shorts which prompted a variety of compliments from the other mothers and laid out an impressive spread across their picnic table. She was also more than excited to get to play with the Denborough’s youngest son who seemed rather drawn to her. She always had a way with children (sans the spawn her sister called children) and could not help the small roar of pride in her chest at this fact that proved itself time and time again. 

The boys were taking turns playing Chicken, Categories, and Marco-Polo. Richie attempted to cheat at Marco-Polo by insisting that he didn’t have to close his eyes because he was “totally blind” without his glasses. This resulted in him being playfully dunked by Stan and Bill. As he started gagging and snuffling from water entering his nose, Eddie was quick to scold the other boys and make sure Richie was okay. Maggie and Went glanced at each other at that, knowing smiles teasing at the corners of their mouth while they played card games with the other adults. 

As the sky morphed into a mix of orange and pink and Sharon settled a sleeping Georgie in the small playpen that Maggie still had from when Richie was small, Maggie decided to put a few desert items out that the other families had brought. Since she and Went made the various salads, casseroles, and BBQ items, the other families were more than happy to offer some cakes, cookies, and popsicle treats for them and the boys to enjoy. The only treat the boys would not be enjoying were the alcohol infused popsicles that Sharon had made. 

Maggie called the boys out of the pool and they immediately stacked their plates with an obscene amount of treats and went off to sit at the kid’s table that Went had set up right off the porch steps. As she began sucking on the special treat that Sharon made, she felt a sense of bliss that she’d not experienced all year thus far. The year, although still full of blessings in regards to their own health (despite the small obstacles they overcame), finances, and general love for their friends and each other, had been rather difficult. Maggie knew harder years would be on the horizon seeing as that was how life worked-- but it had just been so exhausting and tiring to go through so much at once. She had not felt at ease nor content in a while and sitting there with her closest friends and knowing her son was happy with his best buds made her feel a calmness that she had yet to experience that year. 

Unfortunately, something in her stomach buzzed unpleasantly that was not from the small amount of alcohol she had consumed with just a few licks of the mango-flavored pop. The ease that had calmed her through the day immediately evaporated and she scanned the area while the other adults chattered and Zack began dealing out cards for a game of poker. 

She held her breath and listened. Georgie was not crying from inside. She looked at the pool. No animal had gotten over their fence and found a new home-- nor were any of their waterbugs drowning. She glanced at the sky. A spontaneous storm was not brewing above them. 

A cough and Eddie’s voice broke her trance. 

“Richie? Are you okay?” His voice sounded panicked. 

Maggie immediately stood up and she heard a gut wrenching gasp and a grating wheeze. Went seemed to tune in and quickly followed Maggie to the boy’s table which had all parents on full alert. The younger boys had wide eyes and were fixated on Richie with good reason. His eyes were wide and he was struggling to draw in a breath. Maggie would have thought he was choking but the splotchy redness around his neck and mouth indicated nothing but an allergic reaction-- and a severe one at that. His eyes were streaming and his lips were starting to swell. Whatever he was reacting to  _ really  _ did not agree with him and his body was showing this quite aggressively. 

“Hey hey hey,” Maggie said pulling Richie up into her arms, maintaining her calm appearance although she was absolutely terrified. “It’s okay, baby. We’re going to get you to the doctor right now. Went get the keys.  _ Now.”  _

He gave a soft touch to his son’s swelling cheek before sprinting off. Maggie was about to follow before she turned to Richie’s plate scanning it for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing seemed like an obvious suspect so she bid apologies to the other parents at her sudden need to escape. They offered condolences and informed her as she jogged away that they would be wanting answers as soon as possible. She sprinted toward the car, not caring that she was still topless and without shoes. When Went got in the car, she appreciated that he was in the same state of mind and neglected putting on any shoes. 

She sat with a wheezy Richie in the back of the car on the trip to the hospital, refusing to let her anxieties get the best of her. He was clearly panicked, the rash around his mouth growing angrier and his inhales became weaker and raspier with each passing moment. She held him close and kept urging Went to go faster and to “fuck the spped limit.” Richie gave a funny sound at that. She could only assume it was a laugh underneath the swelling and weakened breathing.

In record time, they arrived at the ER and Maggie sprinted ahead of Went. One nurse took a quick glance at Richie and immediately had him on a bed with Maggie at her heels as they wheeled him to a room. The doctors back there did not hesitate before holding Richie down and injecting him quickly with a shot of epinephrine which evoked a sound of distress from the struggling boy and they quickly set him up with an IV to continue treating the symptoms of his allergic reaction. 

xXx

Richie was set up in a small room a few hours later, still hooked up to an IV, looking completely and utterly drained at being injected with the epinephrine and just from all the day’s events in general. He had been made to do an albuterol treatment to ease any remaining tightness in his lungs and with a report of what Richie consumed that day (with the help of the Uris family who had thought to write down everything once the Toziers ran off), the doctors performed an enzyme test along with a skin test on Richie’s back. 

His eyes were half-lidded and the skin around his mouth was still puffy and blotchy with the remnant of a rash that had not completely disappeared. He was clad in a small hospital gown covered in ducks and was slumped heavily against Maggie who had crawled in the bed with him. She knew it was not something most staff generally approved of, but Richie tended to be clingy when he didn’t feel well and kept trying to climb out of bed and tug at his IVs in order to get close to her and Went.  _ This  _ was the only solution in her mind. 

Went sat on the opposite side, decidedly not in the bed, weaving his fingers through Richie’s post-pool hair. Richie’s eyes kept rolling but he seemed determined to stay awake until the doctors returned with the result of the tests they had run once they decided Richie was no longer in severe danger from whatever had induced such a violent allergic reaction. Maggie stroked her thumb between his eyebrows, hoping to ease him into a much needed sleep but her son was stubborn and continued to force his eyes open.

Just as Richie started losing the fight against exhaustion, the doctor returned. 

“Well, as we could easily see from the skin test and the IgE test, we can confirm that little Richie here has a rather severe allergy to peanuts.” 

“But he’s had peanuts and peanut butter before.” Maggie immediately says and Richie nods in agreement, clearly drained but still confused by the diagnosis.

“Yes, but allergies, especially food allergies, can not only go away later in life, but can develop later in life as well.” The doctor hands Richie’s paperwork to Went’s extended hand. “He may not have this allergy forever, but I would not play around with it and would maybe have him checked for it every five or so years. Until then, I’m going to prescribe an antihistamine cream for the rash and an epipen for any future encounters that could happen.”

Maggie nods slowly, absorbing the information, pulling Richie closer into her hold. 

“We’d like to keep him overnight since epinephrine can be extremely hard on a child and we would like to monitor him.” The Toziers nod in understanding. “We can bring in a cot for both of you if you plan on staying with him tonight.”

Went laughs a little. “I think we’ll only need one for me. I don’t think anything will get him” he nods at Richie who has finally fallen victim to sleep now that he was aware of what had made him so sick, “to let her leave his side.”

The doctor chuckles. “I understand. We will have one brought in and a nurse will bring extra blankets. If all goes well, he should be released tomorrow morning. He will probably feel a little weak for a few days and be somewhat short of breath. Because of this, I suggest keeping him off his feet and to not let him be overly active for a while. I know that can be extremely hard for kids over the summer, but it’ll be necessary for now.”

“He definitely won’t like that but we can manage.” Maggie says, snuggling close to her sleeping boy.

The doctor exits, off to request a cot and blankets for the family.

Went turns to Maggie, stretching his legs out from his seat which is uncomfortable as expected for any hospital chair. “I’m sure we can get the other three boys over for a relaxed day of movies. Sonia will absolutely  _ adore  _ that idea.”

“True.” Maggie laughs. “Hopefully she doesn’t think his nut allergy is contagious.”

“We will withhold that information.”

xXx

As expected, the boys are more than happy to come over for a relaxed day with their best friend. Richie is settled on the couch, significantly more energetic than he had been the night prior, but still obviously drained from his normal, hyperactive self. His face is no longer bloated but the rash, which has simmered down to a bright pink, is still splotched across his mouth, neck, and cheeks. He is snuggled up close to Eddie who upon seeing Richie nearly burst into tears.

The boy had immediately hugged Richie close and thrust a delicately crafted “Get Well” card, that he had created and had the other boys had sign, into Richie’s hands. Richie laughed a raspy laugh and hugged Eddie back.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Rich.” Eds mumbled into Richie’s neck.

“Thanks, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that.” He started rambling on about allergies, somewhat excited to see Richie’s Epipen since he had one at home as well for the various allergies he (supposedly) had. 

The other two, although excited to see that their friend was no longer in the same state that left them both mortified, were not nearly as physically affectionate as Eddie. They gave him a quick hug and informed him that they were glad to see him alive and well.

Stan stared at Richie for a moment before telling him, “It’s weird that you’re allergic to nuts because you are a nut.” 

Richie whined at this and started kicking at the boy from under his soft blanket. “Stan, hush!”

“I don’t think y-you’re go-gonna win this.” Bill remarked, a smirk forming on his face. “A-All Stan has to d-do is sneak a p-peanut into your f-food.”

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” Eddie immediately shouted, wrapping his arms back around Richie as to defend him. “You could  _ kill  _ him! One time my mom’s friend who is allergic to fish went to her friend’s house and got too close to their goldfish and died  _ immediately!” _

“Well Rich better not be a pest, then.” Stan said before settling himself on the loveseat with Bill.

Maggie brought out a few drinks for the boys and snacks that she had made sure did not contain any nuts or were marked with potential risk for cross-contamination. Upon returning home, her and Went had purged their pantry of anything containing peanuts or peanut oil.

Went got E.T. set up for the kids on the VHS and mussed Richie’s hair playfully. “Aye matey, ya better not cause too much trouble. We can easily thwart’cha now you filthy scallywag.” He said with a rather impressive pirate impression.

Richie simply gave his father a defiant pout before nuzzling close to Eddie on the couch.

“If you kids need anything, we will be just in the kitchen getting lunch ready, okay?” Maggie informs them. 

A chorus of “Thank you Mrs. Toziers” with a single “Yes mama” immediately filters her ears as they refuse to draw their eyes away from the TV. She smiles at the young boys before returning to the kitchen.

She begins preparing a lunch that is Richie-friendly while Went starts a fridge-purge of all peanut products.  _ This  _ was certainly not how she envisioned the “restart” of their year of incessant roadblocks, but she was thankful that this particular experience was finally over and that her son was okay, if a bit worn out and not necessarily starting his summer off as he would have wanted to. She knew that in being a mother bliss was short lived but she genuinely hoped that after this scare, perhaps the scariest of all within the last six months, that maybe things would start to calm down and they could get through this summer and future ones without such extreme scares. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was relatively okay and fun to read. Again, it was a struggle to really delve into what I wanted to write. I made an attempt. I hope that shows in the very least. I'm not proud but again? Self-esteem isn't here and it's a spur-of-the-moment chapter and I am sleep deprived and in a weird mental state. But GET HYPE. 2 MORE CHAPTERS OF MY OWN BULLSHIT BEFORE WE HIT FULL ASS LOSERS/CH.1 ERA!!!! YOOOOO. will i do it justice? probs not? are we still gonna be hype? maybe. idk. that's up to you. plz don't leave me before then. 
> 
> Also if you actually read my notes, I calculated it. Richie is Cancer Rising. I'M FUCKING DEAD. I don't necessarily believe astrology stuff but it fascinates me highkey. Also, I can make fun of Cancers because I am one. I am the most emotional person ever. We are crybabies and if you are a Cancer and try to pretend that it's a false stereotype, you are wrong. 
> 
> I hope this was relatively decent and met expectations and did not give off shit 2010 fanfic.net vibes. 
> 
> Have a rad ass life, kids.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a few more chapters of mindless fluff that add almost nothing to the plot except... idk me just cracking out random bullshit that maybe 2/10 people find interesting before Ch. 1 material. If you aren't into that content, just skip the next 2-ish and be look out for a Chapter Note that just clearly reads: YO FUCKIN CHAPTER 1 HERE WE ARE or something and get ready for me to end some careers... and lives :) 
> 
> We aren't sure how we vibing with this one but when am I ever sure. I have what the French call, "NO FUCKING SELF WORTH." 
> 
> also, if we could just pretend by flatsound is a reddie song bc all songs are reddie if you try hard enough. :)

Maggie knew football wasn’t for Richie the minute her genetics mixed with Went’s.

**July 1985**

Maggie loved Went with all of her being. She knew he was the one for her after their first real date where he shot her a mischievous grin from across the table at a restaurant he had taken her to, showcasing a piece of parsley he had clearly stuck onto his front two teeth. She had not been able to contain her laughter and spit water down the entire front of her dress. Most guys had always put on a show of impeccable behavior and a level of class that was apparently heavily desired by most college women. That, to Maggie, was dry, predictable, and simply not what she wanted. 

With Went, there was never a dull moment. Sure, he was a dental student and constantly bombarded with an intense amount of work, but he still found time to be spontaneous and silly. He was always cracking jokes, impersonating some of his fraternity brothers, professors, and celebrities, or forcing Maggie into some thrilling adventure that she would quietly smile about in her dorm room and refuse to give the “juicy details” to her close friends that noticed something different about her aura the moment she would walk in wearing one of his jackets and with her hair just a little more out of place than one would expect from a simple date.

Went always had a plethora of qualities that Maggie absolutely adored, however, he did lack in some areas; not that she minded in the slightest. Went was not what one would describe as “burly,” “hunky,” or incredibly “manly” in general. Sure, he had a few features that were strikingly masculine. He had a sharp jaw, broad shoulders, and stood at an impressive height. That was where the physical traits of masculinity ended. He was rather gangly and his bones always stuck out at awkward angles. 

They did so less now that he was finally starting to soften up with age and just by simply being a father that sometimes ignored vegetables in favor of sharing ice cream with his son that always insisted on having the biggest bowl. Went would never deny Richie this and would always finish off Richie’s bowl for him even if it meant a few extra inches to his waistline. Fatherhood did not necessarily make Went “let himself go” so to speak. He may still be gangly in most areas, but his arms were rather toned and that came as a result of being a dad as well. Before, he barely could lift Maggie off her toes despite her being a twig. But, with swinging a squirmy child around and indulging in piggyback rides, it was no surprise when he began to build some muscle around his biceps. 

He still wasn’t some buffed up, brawny man. She didn’t want that. It did not really fit her tastes. Sure, she was more than happy to admire shirtless men in movies during wine nights with Andrea and Sharon-- but in reality, there was something so dull about men like that to her. She was more than content with her goofy, gangly, slightly-squishy husband. She would rather laugh her sides sore at some off-color joke he whispered in her ear at the _worst_ moment possible. His noodly limbs and stretched-out height were always useful to her when it came to decorating for holidays and for simply giving her a better line of sight in crowds when he would allow her to take advantage of a (rather shaky) piggyback ride. When it came to snuggles, Maggie _adored_ the softness that had started padding Went around his abdomen and rib cage. She loved him when they first met, but she wasn’t going to pretend that it was pleasant to lay her head against a rib cage that she could have easily played the xylophone on. Not that she had been one to talk. She had been incredibly bony and did not develop anything resembling hips until she got pregnant with Richie. Between the two of them, neither of them were the poster-parents of athleticism. 

They suffered from outrageously fast metabolisms all throughout their lives, did not build muscle very easily, and looked like they’d each been through Willy Wonka’s taffy puller. Again, it wasn’t something that Maggie really minded. She felt confident in herself and everything about Went made her fall more in love with him each day that passed. However, she was more than aware that they had essentially screwed Richie over of any chance of being some star athlete that had his college paid for on a scholarship. He was destined to be tall, skinny, and muscled to the bare minimum. 

Unfortunately, Richie did not realize this and was determined to sign up for pee-wee football. 

In the last year, Richie had gained a few inches but his body had yet to catch up and did not provide the pounds necessary to catch up with that height. At the present moment, Richie stood taller than Eddie (which he had boasted about to the boy for hours) and Stan (which he did not taunt him for as much), and at the same height as Bill. However, he clearly did not fill out like the others had and was incredibly scrawny, making clothes shopping a living hell for Maggie and Went. Anything that fit his length was too wide and slid right off. Anything that fit the narrowness of his body was far too short and rid up anytime he moved any of his twiggy limbs. _This_ would be a persistent problem as Richie grew older and Maggie was more than aware that it would be even worse once he hit his teens and potentially caught up to Went’s height of six feet. 

He was one of the taller boys entering the fourth grade and definitely the scrawniest. Which was why Maggie did not think football at _any_ level was going to be a good idea. It was an even worse idea in her mind when she discovered that pee-wee did not mean that tackling was not permitted. If anything, children enjoyed that aspect even more and would tackle anyone--even someone on their own team! 

When Richie and Eddie got to her car after their last day of third grade, she noticed that Richie had a bright-yellow piece of paper clutched in his hands that clearly read **PEE-WEE FOOTBALL SUMMER PRACTICES** in block letters across the top. At first she believed this was just another neglected paper Richie had forgotten to bring home and was a standard school announcement for yet another activity Richie had zero interest in. There was enough of those kinds of papers stuffed at the bottom of his backpack for things like Boy Scouts (which Stan had excitedly joined), Bell Choir, and Stamp Club. However, she learned this was not the case the minute he thrust the paper in her hands which contained an abundance of detailed information regarding requirements for a child to do a sport and when/where practices were to occur.

“Mama! I signed up to try football!” Richie announced to her. 

“O-Oh, is that so?” She responds, rather uneasy about the idea. 

“Yeah! Stan and Bill are gonna do baseball and Eddie’s mommy won’t let’em do sports ‘cause of his asthma.” 

“I wanted to try baseball too ‘cause I can catch and run good but my mom said I could have an asthma attack and die”

Maggie felt a surge of anger at this. She had watched Eddie on more than one occasion out run not only Richie and his friends, but all the other boys on the playground without a single wheeze. The only time she ever saw the kid have an “asthma attack” was when he was nervous which to her suggested everything was psychosomatic in nature. Or it was something else that as she had before, did not like considering too heavily because it made her feel _incredibly_ uneasy.

“Why didn’t you want to try baseball, Richie?” Maggie asks. Baseball was still a contact sport, but not to the same extent that _football_ was.

“Football is cooler!” Richie insists. 

“I think both are cool.” Eddie decides.

“Don’t you want to try a sport with your friends?” Maggie suggests.

“Nah. I wanna do football now so I can when I get big too!” Maggie doesn’t have the heart to inform him that he will most likely never “get big.” If anything, he’s going to be vertically gifted and lack the facilities for anything more challenging than carrying a small child if he is to have one of his own. She toys with that idea a lot when she’s feeling a little emotional. She hates the idea of Richie growing up and always has, but she is confident that he is going to shape up to be absolutely wonderful. 

After that initial discussion, Maggie and Went continue trying to put other ideas in Richie’s head that are anything except football. Went fully agrees that football is not the sport for Richie but neither of them have it in them to inform him that this will not be something he finds much success in. All he’s going to find is a nice place on a bench or in the emergency room. 

They attempt to get Stan and Bill to encourage him to join baseball with them but he decided that would be an awful idea because then he wouldn’t be able to cheer them on at their games. They try advocating for joining the swim team since Richie develops an odd sense of grace that he lacks on ground, anytime he is in the water. They point out that he _always_ beats his friends when they race in their pool and how he could practice almost every single day in the backyard. He considers this for a moment and is almost on board until he sees the type of swimsuits athletes have to wear. Maggie even tries to suggest that Richie try gymnastics at the YMCA seeing as he has an endless supply of energy and has mastered various acts of tumbling in their living room through the years-- something that she has previously scolded but was now more than happy to encourage. He dismissed it immediately, stating that gymnastics was for girls.

And that’s what it all came back to. Richie’s persistent insecurities that were only enhanced by incessant bullying that no amount of protection could cease. Richie, like his father, was not very masculine. He was a blend of his father and his mother-- he was doomed from the start. He was thinner than most boys, had long lashes that were magnified behind his glasses, and had high cheekbones that were slowly molding their way through baby fat. If it weren’t for the insecurities that created the rather horrendous bowlish mop on his head, he would still have delicate curls framing his face. Richie had a rather effeminate appearance for a boy and because of boys like Henry Bowers, he absolutely despised it and anything that did not seem predominantly male. 

These insecurities reared their head in the aforementioned haircut, foul language that grew progressively worse each day, dismissal of activities like cooking with Maggie that he once adored, and now, signing up for sports that required a brute strength that Richie simply did not and would not ever have. Maggie did not want to discourage her son. She did not want to add to the growing pile of insecurities rooted in his delicate mind. She did not want him to be convinced that she did not have faith in him. She did. However, she knew what he was capable of and football was not on that list. She could only hope that she was overreacting and the kids on the team would be like Richie and still too delicate to realize football was not for them and not be as aggressive as she had witnessed in the past. 

Practices were to start soon and in preparation, Maggie and Went had purchased Richie a new football that he had started throwing around with Went. He wasn’t half bad with his aim and managed to throw a few spirals that left even Went somewhat awestruck.

“That’s not my kid.” Went said the first time he caught one as Maggie sat on the pool steps, sipping on a lemonade. “I don’t know what you did behind my back, but he is not mine.”

“Yes I am!” Richie yelled back, sticking his tongue out.

“I take it back.” Went immediately says at the sight of his own goofiness reflected in his son’s sunburnt face. 

xXx

The night before practices officially begin and after watching him practicing with Went nearly everyday, Maggie figures her son could always be a quarterback given that he would certainly be tall enough and have a decent visual field. However, at this suggestion when lying curled up against Went, she was immediately informed that it would be the goal of the other team to “sack his ass into next week” during each play. Maggie no longer liked the idea of Richie being a quarterback.

“Plus, all quarterbacks end up becoming douchebags when they get older anyway.” Went says, rubbing his hand down her shoulder.

“Is that a fact or were you just bullied by one and are still bitter about it.” Maggie laughs.

“What! No!” The defensive tone in his voice is all she needs. “Their egos just get inflated and they just become entitled. Have you ever watched a movie, Mags? That’s just a fact of life.”

“Okay. Just know, I would have picked you over any nasty quarterback anyday.”

“You wouldn’t have been their type. _These_ didn’t happen until you got pregnant.” Went’s brown eyes divert to her chest for just a millisecond before meeting her blue ones. She notices his gaze and he is rewarded with a sharp elbow to the stomach. 

“Asshole.” She laughs as he gives a rather unmanly yipe before kissing his jaw. 

“You’re my type though. Isn’t that enough?”

“Of course… and _you’re_ my type.” She is about to continue the sappiness but decides that she has enough Tozier in her now that she lacks any self control. “Wealthy dentist guaranteed to support me for the rest of my life? Living the high life.” At the pathetic frown that crosses his stubbly face she apologizes with a gentler kiss on his lips and then lays her head back on his chest. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” He laughs. “I think he’ll last a week.”

“Are you really betting on our son?” Maggie asks. “You’re sick.” She pushes herself off of him, propping herself up on her elbows. 

“Well, yeah. There’s no way he’s gonna last.” Went says casually, sitting himself up to meet her eyes. “He’s either going to hate it or our combined anxiety is going to explode and we will annoy the coach enough into kicking him off.”

“You’re an ass.” Maggie informs him, slapping him on the shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll last one practice.”

“ _I’m_ the ass?” Went scoffs, attempting to conceal his laughter. “Maggie, that’s cold. Ye’ of little faith?”

“What? I know Richie. I’ll be taking him home tomorrow and he’ll never want to go back.”

“I don’t think he’ll last _one_ day. He’ll make it to Saturday.” 

“I bet a week of back massages that I take him home tomorrow and he never goes back.”

“Alright, you’re on. I bet foot massages for a week that he lasts more than a day.”

“You don’t like foot massages.” Maggie says, somewhat baffled.

“I know. I just know you hate feet.”

“Asshole.” Maggie giggles, pulling him back down from his sitting position so she can lay back down on his chest. “Are we bad parents for this?”

“What?”

“We’re betting on our son.”

“I’m convinced any parent that doesn’t bet on their kid is one of two things. Either a shitty parent that sends their kid off to a boarding school in England, or a fucking liar.” Went thinks for a second. “Plus, no matter what happens he’s going to be coddled by both of us. You’re going to let him have a sleepover with his friends and I’m going to throw him in the pool for three hours straight. Hell, if he proves us both wrong, he is still going to get all of that.”

“We’re good parents.”

“Yeah, we are. So when do you think he’s going to confess his love for E--”

“Went we aren’t making bets on his dating life when he’s nine.” A gentle smack to the side of the head. “Stop that.”

“So, _that’s_ the line?”

“Yes.” She kisses him gently. “Now go to bed.”

xXx

Maggie isn’t like Sonia Kaspbrak in that she constantly seeks out some ailment out of her child. She doesn’t carefully analyze each individual freckle on Richie’s nose or the color of each finger and toenail to find some indication that Richie may have a 1.87% chance of developing a flu on a rainy Tuesday in the next year. However, on the morning of Richie’s first practice she definitely took a note out of Sonia’s book and kept pressing him for any indication that something may be wrong and get her out of having to witness the inevitable disaster this would be. 

“Does your head feel okay?”

“Yes, mommy.”

“Any ouchies?” She looks at his knee that is skinned from when he, Eddie, Bill, and Stan went to the quarry over the weekend. “How’s your knee feeling, baby?”

“It’s okay. I took the bandaid off.” He shovels cereal into his mouth.

“Does your tummy feel okay?”

“Yeah but it’s not gonna if you keep asking questions.” Richie always had a sensitive stomach and it was especially sensitive when he got nervous. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop.” She smiles as she sips coffee.

“It hurts a lil’.” He admits. 

“Nervous?”

“Kinda. I don’t know anyone else doin’ it really ‘cause I only have three friends.” His tone goes bitter at this.

“ _Only?_ You have the three best friends anyone could ever ask for!” Maggie tells him. “Most people don’t even get one best friend as special as yours. You have _three.”_

“I guess so. I’m just scared.” 

“Well if you decide you’re too scared, that’s okay.” 

“Thank you, mommy.” Richie says happily, hopping out of the chair and dropping his bowl in the sink without rinsing it-- something he rarely remembers to do. Normally she might remind him to do so, but with his anxiety already brewing, she decides not to add anything onto his mental plate. 

She awaits his return from dressing himself-- a task he has gotten moderately decent at in the last year and is now trusted with-- by packing a small snack as recommended by one of the papers sent in the mail from the lead coach. She grabs herself her own snack and stuffs it in her purse, seeing as pee-wee parents were encouraged to stand at the sidelines whilst the boys played as it was a rather daunting task to place the responsibility of thirty-something elementary school kids on a few school teachers that were playing the role of football coaches. 

Richie sprinted downstairs wearing the recommended athletic attire that would later be replaced with the practice uniforms they would be fitted for upon arrival. That was another reason Maggie knew Sonia did not like the idea of Eddie engaging in sports: The idea of her son wearing a used uniform that was definitely worn by some other kid at some point. Maggie knew-- or at least she hoped-- that they were on top of sanitizing all uniforms but she had a feeling Richie would be on the short end of the stick in regards to the fit of whatever practice jersey and pants he received seeing as his build was incredibly awkward at the moment (and would be so for the majority of his remaining childhood and impending adolescence). 

“All set, sweetie?” She asks, crouching down to his level with a bottle of sunscreen.

“Uh-huh!” He immediately clenches his eyes shut and holds his arms out so she can lather the coconut-scented cream on his freckled skin. “‘S Cold!” He squeals. She already knows that regardless of reapplications, he is still going to end the day bright red and with a few new spots on his nose. 

“All done.” Maggie announces once she manages to rub away the last streaks of white into his skin. “Ready?”

“Yes!” He darts out the door and toward the car. She grabs all of their stuff and an extra water bottle before settling herself in the driver seat. He’s settled in the back, fidgeting excitedly. She meets his eyes through the rearview mirror, shooting him an encouraging smile despite the fact that she is totally banking on a back massage from Went tonight.

xXx

Upon arrival, Maggie feels her stomach drop slightly at the sight of the children Richie is to be playing with. They’re all small as fourth graders typically are-- but not as small as her son and his friends are. A lot of them appear more developed and have grown into their height more than Richie has. Their limbs, while slender, are not nearly as bony and knobby as Richie’s. They all are accompanied by siblings and parents who clearly have been shaping them to become future athletes and she already knows this is not the place for Richie. 

She especially knows this is not the place for him when she spots Butch Bowers quickly dropping Henry and Patrick Hocksetter off before speeding away. She did not even think about the fact that those boys were still in elementary school and would still be eligible to play on the pee-wee team. There was no way Bowers and Hocksetter would be allowed to make it through Junior High try-outs regardless of his dad’s status or not. Their level of violence and aggression would not be tolerated in a more advanced, mature setting of the sport. 

Richie catches sight of Bowers and Maggie initially hopes that he will want to dart out, but instead he puts on an unexpectedly brave face and pulls her toward the coaching staff that is fitting the abundance of children for padding and jerseys before they actually start letting the children attack each other like a bunch of neanderthals. 

“Hello bud.” The coach, a heavier man with a bald head, greets. “I’m Coach Simmons.”

“Hi Coach Simmons!” Richie greets, “I’m Richie.”

“Tozier? I know your father I think.” The Coach says with a smile, before meeting Maggie’s eyes. Most people know Went seeing as most people see him as their primary dentist.

“Hi, I’m Maggie.” She holds out a hand, allowing him to shake her hand with his sweaty one. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasures all mine. So, we’re just helping the boys get fitted so they can get started and then parents are welcome to just sit around here and watch. You’re welcome to help your kid or others as needed.”

“More than happy to.” She says as the coach looks Richie up and down, his expression clearly one that suggests that he is already doubting the boy based on his waifish form. 

“Gotta bulk you up, kiddo.” He laughs. 

Richie giggles at that, clearly unaware at the implication that he is not built for such a sport. Simmons hands Richie a jersey that is clearly going to be too large on him but will definitely cover his long torso. “Now, go over to Coach Jacobsen and get yourself set up with some padding and a helmet, alright?”

“Yessir.” Richie says, pulling Maggie along.

As they wait to get their own stuff Maggie notices another smaller boy next to Richie. He is with his mother who has her arms crossed across her chest, bouncing on her heels. The woman takes a glance at Richie and then back at Maggie, a weak smile breaking onto her face. 

She brings her voice low enough so their sons cannot hear, “You don’t plan on being a part of this very long either, do you?”

“Not in the slightest. I don’t know what these parents are feeding their kids but it’s definitely not Lucky Charms or tuna fish sandwiches.” 

“Yeah, he’s all set on the idea of playing just because he has watched a few football games with his father and thinks he’s going to go pro one day.” The woman sighs. “I’m not down to crush his dreams even though my husband thinks I should just have sent him into Scouts or something less physical than this.”

“He’s just determined to be tough… I don’t think we’re going to last very long.”

“Well, I’ll probably see you today, and then never again.” The mom laughs. “I’m Monica Corcoran.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Maggie smiles, stepping up to get safety gear-- which she wishes Richie could double up on-- from Coach Jacobsen.

The man takes a look at Monica’s son (who Maggie later learns is named Edward), and Richie and looks a little humored at the sight of the skinny-ass boys before setting them up each with gear that is small enough to sit on their narrow builds and helmets that will certainly dwarf their heads. 

Maggie sits in front of Richie, helping him get everything on. It’s a bit of a hassle as he finds the pads to be annoying and chafing but they manage to get them set in a way where he is minimally discomforted. She holds the helmet in her lap, not wanting to suffocate his head in this humidity until all other children are set and ready to go. 

It takes a while seeing as most of the kids are the same size and the coaches are digging to the bottom of boxes to find multiples of the same size. Richie and Edward did not encounter such a problem seeing as they are arguably the smallest boys there. Richie, whilst waiting, decided to leave Maggie to sit in the center of the grassy field and pick dandelions and blow the fluff of them. He looks positively ridiculous clad in the oversized uniform doing something as innocent as picking dandelions out of a field. Henry Bowers clearly has the same thought and nudges at the Hocksetter boy, before pointing at Richie.

Maggie’s stomach immediately heats up and she shoots an aggressive pair of daggers at Henry, her jaw clenched tightly. She knows she’s not particularly intimidating but something about her motherly instincts brings out an ambience of aggression she does not quite understand. But once Henry is about to make his way to pick on her son, he makes eye contact with her seering eyes and it is enough for him to mumble something to Hocksetter and sulk away. Unfortunately she knows her threatening glares will not protect Richie from the defensive aspect of the game. 

After all other kids are set up and ready, Maggie helps Richie put his helmet on. The coach is trying to rally all the kids so Maggie isn’t really able to secure it as tightly as she wants as Richie grows impatient with her and keeps pulling his head away so he can get toward the crowd of other boys. She sighs, and sits herself next to Monica, resting her chin upon her fist unable to mask her laughter at how ridiculous Richie happens to look with the helmet on his head. 

“This is going to be a nightmare.” Monica mumbles, taking a long sip from her water bottle.

“Tell me about it.” Maggie responds, pulling her curly hair into a messy bun as the morning heat begins to make the back of her neck sweat. 

The coaches set the boys up with a few pass drills as a way to gauge their passing abilities. They’re attempting to decide what positions to place the boys in once they actually force them into offensive and defensive positions and Maggie wishes they could just do drills the whole time because that is something that will bare minimal injury and is something Richie is clearly good at. Apparently really good, seeing as the coaches appear rather impressed with his throws to Edward whom he has elected to partner with. They keep taking steps back from each other with each successful pass and more often than not, Richie is capable of catching the ball and throwing it in an elegant arc back to the Corcoran boy who repeatedly drops the thing. 

Much to Maggie’s dismay, Edward leaves after the drills as he has grown frustrated with his inability to catch more than two of Richie’s passes. Monica shoots her an encouraging smile and wishes her and Richie good luck as she carries her son back to the car. The coaches are kind about the situation but it is obvious they had anticipated this from the boy. 

The coaches pull Richie aside along with another boy. Like Richie, the other boy is rather tall. Unlike Richie, he is slightly stocky and has clearly done more athletic activities aside from chasing his friends, riding bikes recklessly, and swimming in a pool. They tell each boy they’re going to play as quarterback for the teams they have assigned them, given that they were the only two to demonstrate adequate passing ability. Obviously they word it differently in front of the other children, but anyone with eyes could see that most of the boys had yet to develop the skill of throwing a football correctly. This seemed to irritate Bowers and Maggie could already sense the anger he had directed toward Richie for being more successful than him. That did not bode well for her seeing as Bowers was placed on the opposing team and she wanted to make it known to the coach, but she did not want to risk humiliating Richie more so than he already was on a regular basis at school by the asshole kid and his gang. 

The stockier boy played offense first. They executed a few plays and Maggie could not help but be impressed by the young boy’s sheer athleticism. He passed long and wide. He ran with strong strides when necessary, weaving away from defensive players with ease. He, with the help of the others on offense, managed to score a goal. The coaches said they were not counting points at the moment and they were merely getting a feel as to where everyone was at-- but Maggie knew that the kids were treating this like a real game and some of the overly invested parents were if their shouts and complaints were anything to go by. Who knew that some parents deemed it necessary to screech slurs at an elementary pee-wee football practice? 

They reset with a rather pathetic kick and once a boy stumbled to catch it-- but still caught it-- it was Richie’s time to shine… or glimmer weakly and briefly. The coach talked in Richie’s ear for a few minutes and explained some dynamics to him before blowing his whistle and stepping off the field. He blew it again once he was back on the sidelines, indicating that it was time to start. Richie was successful in giving the ball an impressive throw across the field and to a slender boy playing as wide receiver who ended up tackled upon catching it. 

The coach blew his whistle and the boys immediately jumped off the other kid, a few spitting some cruel words his way before returning to their positions. Coach Simmons ran over to Richie, gave him a pat on the back and a thumbs up before starting the next play. Maggie felt a surge of confidence for her boy and felt just fleetingly that perhaps Richie may be okay in this sport. This hope was crushed just like Richie’s skull nearly was.

He stepped back, scanning the field quickly for an open teammate before throwing it cleanly across the field with a power Maggie did not know he possessed. The teammate caught it, and just as the play should have been called, Henry Bowers shot out of nowhere and tackled Richie with all his might to the ground. The force of Bowers was so strong that Richie’s helmet flew clean off just before he hit the ground. She _knew_ his helmet was not secure enough and as his head gave a sickening bounce to the ground she desperately wished she had forced him to wait just a second more. He released a harsh breath as the wind was knocked out of him and his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose. 

Maggie shot up immediately, eyes livid and a stream of swears spilling from her tongue at the foul play. The coach immediately pulled Bowers off of Richie who still had not moved to sit up. Maggie darted out of her seat, ignoring the coaches demand that she stay put. As she passed Henry, something in her made her call him a “worthless piece of white trash” but she would deny uttering such words if asked about it.

Richie was starting to sit up as she managed to get to him. Other kids were frozen in their places and many parents arced their necks to get a look while Coach Simmons yelled at the Bowers boy and Coach Jacobsen made his way over to Maggie and Richie. 

Richie let out a weak cough, his hands trembling as he pushed his glasses back on, immediately magnifying his teary eyes. “I-I wanna go home now.” He told his mother, as his shoulders began trembling.

“We’re going to, okay? You did so good, I’m so proud of you.” 

“Do we need a squad?” Jacobsen asks, kneeling in front of Richie.

“I don’t think… his pupils seem okay and he’s talking fine… not slurring.” She looks at Richie. “Do you know today’s date?”

“Yeah. J-July 1st, 1985.” He answers, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Everything hurts. I wanna go home.”

“Do you know what happened, kiddo?” Jacobsen asks.

“Yeah. B-Bowers attacked me.” Richie sobs out, rubbing his fist under his lenses. 

“I think we’re going to call it quits.”

“He does have some talent…” Jacobsen admits quitely. “But I get it. Just drop everything off at the box and get him home okay. Please give us both a call tomorrow and let us know how he’s doing, alright?” 

“Of course.” Maggie says, picking Richie up. She hears a few claps from some of the less competitive parents at the sight of Richie getting up but he does not seem interested in the slightest at their applause. He simply clenches his eyes shut and lets out a pathetic sob. 

“Do you think you need to go to a doctor, baby?”

“No. I just want to go home and play with Eddie. Not Eddie C. _My_ Eddie.” 

Maggie laughs at that, “I’m sure we can arrange that.” She pulls his jersey over his head, and removes the pads from him. Coach Simmons returns from benching Henry for the rest of practice and offers his own apologies.

“I’m real sorry it ended like that.” He hands her a bag of ice that he must have put together with the cooler set on the bench next to where Bowers is now pouting. “Make sure he gets some rest and I’m sure Jacobsen already told you, but really, give us each a call tomorrow and let us know how he is”

“I’ll be sure to.” Maggie assures him, taking the ice from him and helping Richie hold it against the lump forming on the back of his head. She waves goodbye to the two coaches before making the trek back to her car. Her arms shake slightly at the awkwardness of carrying him with his long limbs, but she refuses to make him walk when he’s feeling so weary after the day’s events. 

He immediately curls up in the backseat and buries his face into his knees while holding the bag of ice to his head as she pulls out of the practice field. 

“You did really good, sweetie.”

“Bo-Bowers is an asshole.” Richie says between sobs.

On any other day, Maggie would halfheartedly scold him for using such language, but after everything, Maggie cannot help but agree. “Yes, he is. I’m sorry baby.” She thinks for a second about what she and Went discussed last night in regards to incessantly spoiling their boy. “Wanna get ice cream?”

“Yes, please.” He mumbles, peering up from his knees.

xXx

They end up ordering two small bowls of vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. One for Richie, and one for Eddie that Richie is holding for the other boy. Maggie swings by the Kaspbrak residence, hopeful that Sonia will let Eddie come over if she milks the situation well enough. Richie isn’t sick and his health isn’t compromised. He simply has a sore body and a damaged ego. 

She hops out of the car, allowing Richie to remain seated in the back, refusing to start in on his ice cream until Eddie can join him.

She knocks on the door and is met by Sonia. “Hi Sonia,” she greets in a sweet voice. “Richie is in the car and was wondering if Eddie could come over for a restful day inside. He got a little hurt at football and immediately wanted to see Eddie when we left.” She offers a small smile.

Sonia contemplated this before saying, “This is why you should never sign your kids up for sports teams, Maggie. Did you take him to an emergency room? He could have broken bones, a brain bleed--”

“He’s mainly just upset that it even happened. The Bowers boy went a little psycho on him. Scared him quite a bit.”

“ _That_ boy is nothing but trouble.” Sonia scoffs. 

“You’re telling me.” Success. She has her on her side again.

“Eddie-bear!” Sonia calls inside. The other boy comes running to the door, clad in a pastel button-down shirt and shorts, fanny pack secured around his waist. 

“Yes ma-- Hi Mrs. Tozier!” He greets. “I thought Richie had football, today.”

“He did. It didn’t go too well. We wanted to know if you wanted to spend the day inside, over at our place with Richie.” She raised her brows at him excitedly at her suggestion. Eddie immediately knew that this was code for swimming in the Tozier pool and eating food he wasn’t allowed at home. 

“Yeah! Is it okay mommy?” 

“Yes. Just make sure to take your medication and to not let Richard talk you into trying any sports with him.” She warns as if Maggie is not standing right in front of her.

“Of course, mama.” He gives her a kiss on the cheek as she bends down to his level and takes Maggie’s hand as they approach the car.

Maggie helps him into the back under Sonia’s watchful eye and straps him in before driving away at a speed that she knows cannot upset her in the slightest.

“Wow! Are you okay, Rich?” Eddie immediately asks, taking the bowl of ice cream that Richie passes toward him. 

Richie sniffles pathetically and speaks in a voice slightly braver than Maggie remembers him ever using. “Yeah. It just hurts a little.”

“Did your brain come out the sides of your ears?”

“What? No.” Richie says as he sets the ice in his lap so he can use both hands to enjoy his ice cream. 

“What happened?”

Richie immediately delves into the story of his day at practice. Maggie cannot help but smirk at Richie playing his bravery up ever so slightly. He doesn’t make it seem like he didn’t cry at all, but he definitely minimizes the shock and embarrassment he had clearly expressed to her on the field. 

“Wow. That’s scary.” Eddie says as Maggie pulls up to the front of the house. “Are you going to go back?”

“I don’t think so. I’m scared of Bowers.” Richie admits. He moves to undo himself.

“Wait!” Eddie says. “You gotta be careful. Eddie sets his now empty bowl of ice cream on the driveway before sprinting to Richie’s door and helping him out with careful hands. Maggie cannot help but beam at this, her heart warmed by the care Eddie is carefully demonstrating for her boy.

“I’m okay.” Richie says.

“You gotta be careful, though.” Eddie informs him. “You hit your head.” Eddie pokes Richie in the back of the head, eliciting a small yelp as Eddie’s sharp fingers prod the tender area. “See? It still hurts. Let's go inside and watch something on TV.”

“You don’t want to swim?”

“You gotta rest first Rich.” Eddie insists, grabbing Richie’s ice off the backseat and handing it to him. Richie places it back on the sore spot and Eddie takes his hand and pulls him inside, abandoning their empty bowls outside the Tozier’s car.

Normally Eddie would not be so careless of littering, but Maggie can tell that he is clearly preoccupied in nursing Richie back to health which she will certainly not deny him. She grabs the plastic bowls and tosses them in the outdoor trash can before entering the house and finding Eddie settling Richie with one of their throw blankets and forcing him to lay his head on his own lap. 

“See, now I can hold the ice on your head and you can sleep if you need to.” Eddie informs him. 

“Thanks Eds.” Richie says, smiling up at him.

“I don’t care if you’re hurt, don’t call me that.”

“Eds Spagheds.”

“Mrs. Tozier,” Eddie says as Maggie grabs the remote and sets the channel to one she knows both boys like, “I think Richie has brain damage.”

“Hey!” Richie snaps, wincing slightly as he jostles himself.

“Stop being stupid. You need to rest you idiot.”

“I wanna swim.”

“ _Later.”_ Eddie says, “Now it hurts here right?” He says, gracing his finger over the back of Richie’s head. Richie nods and Eddie places the half-melted bag in the area. 

“Thanks Dr. K.” Richie mumbles, his attention focusing on the show before them. 

Maggie smiles as the two boys snuggle together to watch a couple of episodes of He-Man. She knows they will grow antsy in the next few hours, so she makes sure to set out Richie’s swim trunks and the ones Eddie keeps here for when he knows he is going to swim against his mother’s wishes.

She feels mildly guilty that she doubted her son so much and that he did demonstrate some skill, but she knows ultimately, this was not the sport for him and she feels bad that he got hurt. Had Bowers not been there, the day would have gone down a little differently but she knows Richie is happier spending time with Eddie than he would be playing football-- and she also knows that she will be getting the best back massages this week. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I'm in a weird mood because I haven't seen the type of fic I want so my brain is like "well write it yourself asshole" and the other half is like "you hate everything you do and you're just going to criticize it because according to your therapist the idea of complimenting yourself or accepting compliments goes against your self-taught idea that everything you do is wrong/bad so the idea of praise from yourself or others is always going to make you uncomfortable..." idk what she's on. sounds fake. Whatever, I'm gonna do it anyway because I'm on spring break and it's rumored my university is closing down after spring break because corona panic is high because students traveling and stuff??? Idk
> 
> eddie would be screaming at corona and richie would just be like, "i'm more of a hard liquor guy anyway?"
> 
> and on this episode of I like to think i'm funny funny.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up friends? So, my university is officially closed until April 3rd. So, that's interesting. I'm kinda sad because I don't drive at school because parking at my apartment is way too expensive so I'm stuck at home which anyone in college/university knows is SHIT because the minute you go back home, you immediately revert back to being a 13 year old in your parents' eyes. I am 21. Sure, I have to script my phone calls and I spent too much time on TikTok... but I am an adult. On a bright note or maybe not so bright if you're tired of my ass, I'm gonna be writing this shit more because everything is online which in my brain means "no work." 
> 
> ANYWAY, after this chapter, we start some CH. 1 material with one chapter in between a few of the scenes that is more original but leads to something significant regarding Eddie in a later chapter. We love that. Idk how to feel about this one and I'm afraid that it seems kinda all over the place which it definitely is but I hope it's not confusing or annoying. It's basically just a few random one-shots that I felt like adding because they were cute in my head but not long enough to warrant a solo chapter. Idk. I'm sorry. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it but if you wanna skip and just sit out till Ch. 1 bullshit, tune in for Ch.12 :)

Maggie knew Richie’s friends meant the world to him, but she knew that Eddie was special.

xXx

Richie cared deeply about each of his friends. Although he certainly did not have any disdain for being home with his parents, he clearly had a preference for being out of the house and doing something with one of his three buddies. They meant the world to him and he held them in such high regard that Maggie could not help but admire the love and compassion he truly demonstrated for those boys. He genuinely loved each of them and Maggie knew he would go to the ends of the Earth or through the fiery pits of hell if it meant being there for his three friends. She knew they meant the world to him and that he did his best to be a good friend to them despite his tendency to be a loudmouth that enjoyed teasing them. 

Maggie could not have asked for three better kids to have befriended her son. They were each a blessing to the Tozier family and Maggie and Went genuinely saw those boys as their own. They each did so much for Richie. 

Stan, his very first friend, grounded Richie. He kept him level and from going too far when his ideas and mouth propelled him forward. He had come into his life when no one else was capable of handling the persistent energy Richie exhibited. He was fearless when it came to approaching Richie. He was not deterred by the buzzing energy he had and if anything, he enjoyed the challenge of having someone as hyperactive as Richie in his life-- or so it seemed to Maggie. Richie, as expected, frequently got in trouble for his unrestrained behavior at school. Stan always took it upon himself to “beep” Richie in order to prevent him from getting in too much trouble-- but occasionally did egg him on. Not that Maggie minded. There were always so many people, primarily adults or bullies, that urged Richie to shut up or sit down and Stan made sure to make it known to Richie that despite being a nuisance to some, he was always appreciated by him and their other friends. 

Bill was a source of inspiration to Richie; he genuinely looked up to the other boy-- and not just in height. Richie would never admit that he admired Bill so much, but it was evident to Maggie and Went that he did. Bill always seemed so fearless to Richie and he always raved to his parents about how Bill protected little Georgie against school bullies and led them into countless adventures that he otherwise would have never done or even thought possible. Bill called the shots more often than not and gave Richie a sense of motivation to try new things. If it weren’t for Bill, Richie would have never tried one of his favorite foods: shrimp. When the Denboroughs and Toziers decided to go out together for a dinner at a slightly more upscale place just outside of Derry, Bill had immediately indulged in the shrimp cocktail. Richie initially turned his nose away at the crescent shaped fish but once Bill told him how delicious they were, Richie was quick to follow suit and was now always begging Went to buy him some. Without Bill, Richie would not be as willing to take risks or have a desire to expand his horizons as much as he did now given the closeness of his and Bill’s relationship.

Eddie was unique. Richie simply adored the boy with every fibre of his being. Eddie was great at keeping Richie safe. Sure, it may be done in excess as a result of Eddie living life in a constant state of paranoia-- but it was prompted by the fact that Eddie truly cared about Richie. Anyone with eyes could see that. Eddie was easily the mother-hen of their group, but this role was exacerbated anytime it came to Richie. Eddie had a crippling fear or germs and injuries-- but this seemed to dissipate when it came to Richie. He was always hesitant to approach Bill and Stan when they had skinned knees or sniffles. However, with Richie, he was quick to cover an open wound and had on more than one occasion sat with Richie on days where Richie was too ill to go to school and was cooped up in bed. He would never come over if it was anything more severe than a flu, but the fact that Eddie would actually _hold_ Richie close when he was feverish and wheezy spoke volumes to Maggie. 

Richie was incredibly lucky to have such incredible friends and he was more than aware of this fact. However, she could only hope that the other three were aware of how lucky they were to have her Richie. They were all incredible at providing for Richie in ways that they could not quite do as parents-- but Richie also gave to them in ways that truly demonstrated his love for them. She hoped (and she was somewhat certain) that they knew how fortunate they were to have Richie in their lives as he was to have them in his. 

xXx

**May 1986**

Not a single weekend went by without Richie spending time with his friends. Not a single _day_ went by without Richie making plans to see Stanley Uris. Those two were absolutely inseparable. This definitely came with the territory of them having been friends since they were fresh out of diapers and because their parents also happened to be best friends. They did absolutely everything together. They shared everything from toys to books to germs seeing as they had spent most of their sick days cooped up together in the Tozier living room. 

The two boys were a great pairing. They complimented each other extremely well. Where Richie was overzealous and unpredictable , Stan was prudent and logical. These were qualities that someone like Richie could obviously benefit from and any adult that observed their friendship was quick to praise Stan’s influence on the other boy. However, what often slipped under the radar was the positive impact Richie had on Stan. 

Stan was by no means meek or uninteresting. He had plenty of personality and always made his friends laugh. Sure, his humor was slightly more understated than Richie’s. He didn’t evoke side-stitching laughter with crude jokes, goofy expressions, or faulty impersonations. He had a more complex sense of humor that relied on well-timed quips and sarcasm that often went over his friends’ heads. However, he was significantly more cautious. This trait only grew within him when he joined the Scouts. He had been exposed to an overload of information regarding the dangers of the wilderness and had adopted a paranoia that somewhat mirrored the same fearfulness Eddie exhibited when it came to physical ailments. 

He was very hesitant in a variety of situations and often turned his head away at new opportunities. Stan did not like to break his routine. He preferred order. He had a disdain for all things new and had minimal desire to adapt himself to new situations even if it meant isolating himself from an exhilarating experience. This was something that clearly juxtaposed Richie’s leap without looking tendencies. Richie was always keen to thrust himself into risky situations if there was a chance that it may yield in a rush of adrenaline and a memory to make him smile later on.

Maggie was not necessarily thrilled at her son’s habitual risk-taking, but she could not say it was a quality she wanted him to be rid of. It allowed him to expand his horizons on the daily and as he grew older, he let his guard down in more facets of his life than Maggie would have thought imaginable. Given his incessant bullying from schoolyard brats and his satanic cousins, Maggie was certain her son might have grown to be more timid and closed off. He always had a wild personality around her and Went but she initially feared that could have been isolated to his homelife. Luckily, she had been wrong even if that meant him coming home with skinned knees, cracked glasses, and a few detention slips. 

Oftentimes, Stan seemed rather stunned at Richie’s desire to jump head-first into anything. Stan was one to find even the most minute of risks in any given situation. He would hold his arms close to his entire body whenever he and the others went through the woods because according to him, each leaf was poison ivy, oak, or some other plant designed to induce an irritating rash. Occasionally the boy had been right and Richie had returned home with welt-like rashes around his arms and legs but he would simply let himself be slathered in calamine and be back to running through the same woods that gave him the poison in the first place. As Stan got older, he stopped jumping in the Tozier pool with Eddie, Bill, and Richie. He elected to simply climb in from the steps or ease his way in with careful calculation from the deep end. This often thwarted his ability to win in a race since the others were unwilling to accomodate for his fears and would leap in without hesitation in order to get an immediate head start. He was left to kick off the edge with his skinny legs which rarely proved itself effective in out-swimming the others. 

He was never willing to take what were to him, “unnecessary risks.” Sometimes these risks were actually experiences that were extremely joyful and would prove to be nothing except memorable. This is where Richie stepped in to fulfill his role as a positive influence on Stan. He did not _force_ Stan to do anything that made him uncomfortable. He was simply a source of encouragement that would gently reassure Stan and hold his hand through anything that may have intimidated him.

One of the most notable things Maggie was aware of Richie getting Stan to do was jumping off the cliff at the quarry into the water a month before the end of fourth grade. Apparently this was an activity the boys had started all the way back in third grade, when they were finally permitted to ride their bikes beyond the neighborhood. Prior to Richie’s encouragement, Stan had merely watched the boys leap over the edge and found his way in by other means-- means that required him to nervously hike around trees he convinced himself were riddled with poison ivy.

She was only aware of this fact because hours after getting Stanley to leap off, Richie ended up spraining his ankle whilst attempting tricks on his bike that he witnessed Bill doing on their way back home. As Maggie went to retrieve her son from where he sat with a swollen ankle and a disgruntled expression upon his face to mask any pain, she questioned how he ended up in such a state despite Eddie having reported the situation to her. Richie was honest and informed her that Bill was doing a bunch of cool tricks on the street and he had wanted to try. With a sigh, she asked him the question that was a staple among all parents that had children as impetuous as Richie, “Well if Bill was going to jump off a cliff would you do it?”

Without any hesitation, Richie answered, “Well yeah. We do it everytime we go swimming at the quarry and I just now got Stan to not be scared of it!” He had been beaming at this apparent success and Maggie felt as if she was about to have an aneurysm at her son’s confession that he had been indeed jumping off cliffs and was essentially the ringleader in this activity. Before she startled the other boys who had remained to ensure that their friend was okay, Maggie composed herself and deemed that Richie would be alright and simply got him into the car and dropped his friends off before going home.

“So,” She started as she helped him hobble to the couch so he could elevate his swollen foot. “You jump off that giant cliff at the quarry?”

“What? No!” Richie exclaimed, eyes wide. “We do the middle one, mom! That big one is for the big kids. We aren’t doing that one until we’re at least like teenagers or something.” 

“How about you never?” Maggie suggests as she fetches a pack of ice for him.

“Mom, it’s not that scary.” Richie whines, placing the ice on his foot. “We all do it.”

“I’d prefer if you stuck to jumping in the pool here.”

“Technically I’m more likely to injure myself here if I were to dive because the water is not as deep as the water at the quarry.”

Maggie snorts a little at Richie’s logic. “Honey, I don’t think that’s completely true. There’s plenty more ways for you to get injured swimming at the quarry than here.”

“Well, don’t tell Stan. _I_ just got him not to be scared to jump off the middle cliff, mom.”

“How’d you manage that?” She asks curiously. Maggie is more than aware of how stubborn Stan can be when a fear makes its presence in his mind. It has been a concern of Andrea’s for the past year. She informed Maggie over the phone one day that she has noticed an antsiness about him when it comes to certain experiences and obsessive behaviors. She had been contemplating taking him to a psychologist.

“It wasn’t easy.” Richie shrugs. “I just felt bad that he always was left out whenever we would jump in and he’d have to walk all the way through the woods by himself just to swim with us. I know I could have done _that_ with him, but it’s just so fun to leap right in and I knew he was really missing out.” He looks back up at his mother. 

“So what did you do?”

“Well, today, I waited until Bill and Eddie went in. Stan usually likes to watch us all jump because he wants to make sure we get in okay and none of us bust our brains outta our skulls on the way down.”

Maggie winces severely at that image. Richie notices.

“I promise there’s not any rocks near where we’re jumping. If there were, I’d be swimming with the fishes by now, mom.”

“You really know how to comfort me, sweetie.”

Richie giggles a little at that, wincing as he jostles his foot. “Anyway, I told him that he was really missing out. He got kinda mad at me for that and started telling me that we’d been over this before and we _have._ Everytime we jump, Stan likes to tell us all about how we’re gonna die doing it.”

“He’s being cautious.”

“Yeah, but he’s also missing out and I don’t like him being left out.” Richie argues. “ He tried to walk away so he could meet us because Bill and Eddie were starting to get mad at us for not getting in, but I wouldn’t let him. I kept grabbing his hand so he had to stay by me and told him he would really like it and that it was like flying. You know, like his stupid birds-- which I’m still scared of.” A small shudder rattles Richie’s shoulders. “Plus, if he didn’t like it, he’d never have to do it again.”

Maggie smiles at this. She can truly imagine her son’s kind face as he attempted to dispel Stan’s fear with soothing tones and words of encouragement. 

“So, I told him…” Richie shifts slightly as his next words sit on the tip of his tongue and Maggie can sense the discomfort roiling within him that is not a result of his ankle. “I know it’s girly, but I told him I’d hold his hand if it would make him feel better.”

“That’s not _girly,_ baby. It’s being a good friend.”

Richie shrugs and Maggie can see the insecurities burning behind his magnified eyes. Richie couldn’t hide his feelings even if he was a professionally trained actor. “He tried to talk his way out of it and say it wasn’t a big deal and I just told him that it was a lot safer than he thought! I even researched some stuff about cliff diving and was able to tell him some static stuff--”

“Statistics, honey”

“Yeah, that and that he had a lesser chance of getting hurt doing this than he did whenever he swam at our pool and that it was more dangerous to hike down the woods all alone than it was to jump in with all of us!” Richie is preening at this point of the story, clearly proud of the information he had brought to the quarry in order to help Stan to get over this bridge (or edge of a cliff in this case) that was his fear. “I told him that it was something he would really like and that I would be with him the whole time and if he hated it, I would allow him to kick me right in the nuts.”

Maggie snorts at this, shaking her head. 

“So, he finally agreed!” Richie contemplates this for a second. “Maybe he only agreed ‘cause he wanted to kick me.” He shakes away the sidetracked thoughts. “I swear he almost broke my hand mommy. He was holding it so tight and we counted down from three and I got him to jump off!”

“Wow! That’s amazing, sweetie.”

“Yeah! Bill and Eddie were so surprised! We all clapped for him and he didn’t even kick me afterward!” Richie wiggles excitedly. “He was super happy and asked me to do it with him again! We ended up taking turns holding his hand to jump in and the last time before we left, he did it all by himself, mom!”

“Really? That’s incredible!”

“He was super brave today, mama!”

“That’s because _you_ helped him.”

Richie shrugs. “Stan is always brave, mama.”

“I’m not saying that he isn’t. I just think Stan is really lucky to have someone as motivating as you as his friend.” With Richie, Stan was more keen to break out of his shell and that showed in more ways than this instance of cliff-jumping. He brought out Stan’s sass and ignited a spark in Stan that he often allowed to be dimmed by fear and uncertainty. 

Richie ponders this. “I dunno, maybe. I’m just really glad Stan was able to do that today. I can’t wait till we all start jumping off the _big_ one!”

“Maybe we can stick with the middle one, how about that?”

xXx

**October 1986**

When it came to Bill, Richie was, according to Went, “stupidly loyal.” He was like a well-trained service dog that possessed impressive protective instincts and could sniff out trouble from a mile away; however, he was a dog that still lacked any impulse control and ran headfirst into danger if it meant helping out a friend. A majority of this stubborn allegiance to the Denborough boy, in Maggie’s opinion, stemmed from the fact that Richie genuinely looked up to Bill. He just seemed so wise and mature to Richie given that he was an older brother, and in Richie’s words, “the best damned older brother” at that. 

Obviously, being an older sibling had expectations set by the parents. Being a decent older brother or sister required an enhanced level of maturity seeing as they were someone a younger child was going to certainly look up to. Richie, Stan, and Eddie did not quite understand this expectation and simply admired the wisdom that seemingly oozed from the ringleader of their little pack. 

This loyalty to Bill was especially obvious anytime any of his friends were accosted by Bowers and his gang. Sure, each of the boys were more than competent when it came to defending themselves, but Richie seemed to feel obligated to step in as a human shield anytime tensions rose beyond a level Richie deemed acceptable. With their growing bodies and newfound ways of attacking one another, the rivalry that began all the way in their early elementary days grew. The Bowers gang, twisted and deranged always sought out to make the four boys miserable in some shape or form despite the fact that they were all more than capable of bringing them down with a few remarks that were laced with a level of intelligence and wit none of those daft boys could ever dream of having. 

Unfortunately, with their bodies two years ahead physically, Bowers and his friends could easily rely on brute strength to knock Richie and his friends around. They no longer felt the need to spit slurs into their faces like they did in years past. Sure, they occasionally wove them in whilst throwing a punch into their guts or twisting their arms behind their backs, but that wasn’t their primary form of attack anymore. 

The time where Richie really proved his loyalty to Bill occurred at a Halloween Hayride hosted by the Derry School District. This event was one of Richie’s favorites and was one he looked forward to the minute summer came to an end. However, this year, Richie’s festivities were cut short and Maggie received a phone call from one of the event supervisors regarding some incident. She was informed that she needed to pick Richie up and that he was to serve a week’s worth of after school detention. When she arrived, she was met with the sight of a disheveled Richie, clad in a now-torn Batman costume (that had been paired with Eddie’s Robin costume), shattered glasses, and a split lip. 

His shoulders were slumped up to his ears and only tensed at the sight of his mother approaching him. He allowed his eyes to fall to his feet in shame as he stood up, unable to meet her eyes.

“So, what exactly happened?”

“Well, Mr. Tozier here has confessed to attacking Henry Bowers and insulting his father.” Richie shifted slightly at this and his gaze fell to the night sky. 

Maggie knew instantly what Richie had done. He had lied to the supervisor about what had happened. Rather than stating this fact, that is obvious to her seeing as she can read her son from a mile away, she nods her head. “I would like to apologize for my son’s behavior and will see that he is adequately punished for his behavior at home.” 

The stern faced supervisor gives a hum of disdain toward Richie before bidding a rather unkind farewell to Maggie. 

Maggie took Richie’s hand and led him toward the car. They silently got buckled and began their drive back toward their home. 

“So, you didn’t even make it onto the hayride, did you?”

“No.” He mumbles, removing the cape from around his neck and using it as a blanket to warm himself from the fall air that must have chilled his skin given that he had earlier denied needing a jacket in the crisp weather because it would cover the rather impressive costume he and Eddie had spent weeks crafting together. 

“You lied to the super advisor.” Maggie states knowingly. Richie is quiet. “What really happened?”

“I fought with Bowers.” 

“I can see that.” She peers in the rearview mirror, meeting his eyes. “We have a spare pair of glasses for you at home.”

“Thank you.” 

“Now, I want you to tell me everything that happened today. I know you did not start this and I know it’s not your fault.”

“Uh, well Bowers _did_ start it.” Richie says. “He always does.”

“I kind of figured that but I have a feeling you did not fight back as much as you claimed to.” She meets his eyes again. “Is that true?”

“Yeah.” 

“Well?”

“Bowers started teasing Bill for his stutter which is stupid ‘cause it’s _really_ unoriginal at this point. Like he talks funny, we get it.” Richie huffs. “And Bill was really trying to ignore it but Bowers wouldn’t stop and this was making Georgie upset which is kinda shitty-- sorry mom-- ‘cause it was his first time at the hayride!”

“Alright, so what happened and why are you taking the blame for it?”

“Well, he was being a total jerk so I _did_ say stuff about his dad. I told him he needed to… um, well…” He laughs under his breath, “to go… do stuff to his dad…” Richie scratches the back of his neck as Maggie gives an expectant noise. “I told him to, and you can’t be mad because you want to know, fuck his dad in the ass.” 

Maggie sighs loudly at this. Richie genuinely seemed to enjoy painting a target on his back-- or his face in this case. 

“He got mad for that and punched me in the face and stepped on my glasses.” Richie shifts a little. “He ended up getting on top of me which made Georgie real scared. So, Eddie and Stan ran off for one of the adults and Bill decided to jump on Henry’s back and started beating the hell out of him… I’ve never seen him _so_ mad.”

“Well he wanted to protect you.”

“Yeah. He always does.” Maggie can physically hear the soft smile of admiration that is certainly upon Richie’s dirty face. “Well Bill had the upper hand obviously and knocked Henry back on the ground and while he was down, he grabbed Georgie and helped me up.”

Maggie nods. “Alright, I’m still not seeing why you were the only one that was in trouble.”

“Well… when the teacher came, Bill started getting upset and Georgie began to cry because they were going to get kicked out because we all know Bowers doesn’t get in trouble for anything. Henry was starting to get up and I could tell he was going to scream in his face which would just upset Georgie and then tell the advisors what happened… So I kicked him in the nuts where the advisor could see me and they kinda assumed I was the one that messed up Bowers the way Bill had.” 

“And no one said anything?” She could not help but feel slightly irritated in Bill for not owning up to his actions.

“Well, they started yelling at me and Bill was about to talk and I just confessed right there that Bowers was picking on Bill and I just snapped and began beating up on him when he wasn’t looking at me.” Richie sighs a little. “It was Georgie’s first time at the Hayride and Bill has been talkin’ about it all month and I didn’t want him to miss out on it because I can’t keep my mouth shut. I _had_ to take the blame, mom.” 

Maggie cannot contain the warm smile that creeps up her face as her heart melts at her son’s altruism. There was something so special and rare about someone, let alone a child, sacrificing their own happiness and risking themselves simply for the benefit of someone else. Richie never failed to surprise Maggie with just how big his heart really was.

“That was really kind of you, baby.” Maggie says.

He shrugs, attempting to undermine his actions. “I’ve gone every year and I know it was special for Bill this year.” He shifts a little.

“You’re a really good friend, honey.”

“I am?” His voice seems uncertain. “But I make them mad sometimes.”

“Everyone makes their friends mad sometimes. When it comes down to it, you’re always there for them and would do anything for them.” 

“I guess.” The self-doubt is clear in his tone. 

She pulls the car into the driveway and helps him out of the back. She offers a small smile before bending down to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re a real special friend, Richie.”

He shrugs. “I just wanted to make them happy.”

“And I’m sure you did.”

“So I’m not in trouble, then?”

“You did still say some bad things…”

“Okay, but you said I was kind today so I think that cancels it out.”

“I guess it can _this_ time.”

When it came to Richie, most things cancelled out because Maggie could never bare to punish her son because typically, whenever he did _anything_ “bad,” it was similar to instances like this and was simply because he was attempting to protect his friends or stand up for them. He really was like a stupid dog that’s mind was clear of everything except caring for his friends and crude humor. 

xXx

**June 1988**

When Maggie first saw Richie hug Eddie on the playground when she went to pick him up on his first day of kindergarten, she _knew_ Eddie held a special place in her son’s heart. This was only confirmed with each progressing year. Richie truly cherished all of his friends and that was an undeniable fact. He ensured Stan’s happiness and sought to break him out of his shell. He would drag himself through flames to be by Bill’s side. With Eddie, however, there was something distinct in how Richie approached his relationship with Eddie. It was not typical in how most children, even Richie with a heart bigger than his brain (which said a lot given his intelligence), demonstrated their love for their friends. 

Maggie knew why Richie treated Eddie differently than all of his friends. She could sense it when he was just a little kindergartener but was not one to make any official declaration regarding her beliefs as it was not her place nor was it the time. She absolutely hated when parents went on about their children being in love when they weren’t even old enough to see most of the movies featured at the Aladdin. It was ridiculous and she was not keen to give her son a complex when it came to him approaching his future love life when he reached an age where such discussions were warranted and more appropriate. Plus, she would prefer it if he came to her and Went first rather than bombarding him with a subject that could easily be uncomfortable for anyone of any age. 

Despite this lack of confirmation in regards to why Richie treated Eddie so differently, Maggie could see the differences in just about everything Richie did when it came to talking about or being around Eddie Kaspbrak. 

She saw it in the way he teased the boy significantly more than the others. Sure, everyone that was, in her opinion, blessed enough to have a social interaction with her goon was guaranteed some playful ribbing. Whenever he teased Bill or Stan it was usually prompted by something relevant to whatever conversation they were having. However, with Eddie, Maggie had noticed that Richie genuinely went out of his way to tease Eddie. The boys could be in complete silence and Richie would randomly decide to start teasing Eddie about his shorts, his height, or would go on about how he was totally smitten for his mother. That was an ongoing joke that somewhat disturbed Maggie but also she knew that Richie simply made those jokes because he had picked up on the fact that those were the ones that got the biggest rise out of Eddie. 

Despite teasing Eddie at any given chance, Maggie also noticed his desire to always protect Eddie. This was different in the way that he protected his other friends. With Stan, Richie offered easy words and logic that would refute any fallacies within the anxious boy’s mind. With Bill, he stood by his side and defended Bill against bullies or fought on his side since Bill typically was more than capable of holding his own ground. 

With Eddie, Richie had a slightly more intimate approach. Anytime Eddie was being teased at school, Richie would immediately put himself in front of Eddie and paint himself as a human target to divert all attention away from Eddie and onto himself. He did not let Bowers or his friends get past a few pathetic insults regarding Eddie’s asthma or stature before stepping in with a cutting remark that typically resulted in a bruised jaw or cracked glasses. Whenever Eddie fell victim to his own anxieties induced by his mother’s parenting and became overwhelmed by intrusive thinking, Richie was always there to soothe him. He often would place his hands on Eddie’s soft cheeks and tell him to look him in the eye. Initially, Eddie would attempt to bat him away as statistics regarding the germ transfer from touch definitely ran through his mind, but then he would submit and sink into Richie’s touch. Richie would talk in easy tones with the other boy until he was able to become grounded once more. 

Something else that really gave Maggie confirmation as to how special Eddie was to her son was the way he looked at him. Eddie was absolutely oblivious and none of their friends ever detected this, but Maggie caught this just about every time Eddie was around Richie. Richie would look at Eddie longer than he did anyone else. He would simply watch him with a gentle smile that was fairly rare for a boy of such high energy. He would have a look of awe and admiration written on his face that Maggie only saw in pictures of herself and of Went when they were caught in candids looking at one another. The looks were not obscenely long but held longer than any gazes he may hold on any other individual. They spoke for themselves. They signified a liking for the boy that was unique from his relationships with his other friends. 

Maggie could list an abundance of moments whereby Richie displayed his affections for the other boy. Each day she witnessed them interacting simply emphasized the way Richie cared about Eddie in a way that went beyond his feelings for Bill or Stan. Each moment Richie shared with Eddie was one that she could tell that he genuinely cherished. Sure, he spent more time with Stan, but the moments with Eddie were certainly unique. This was easily observed when Maggie and Went took the two boys to the Derry Canal Days Festival at the very start of summer. 

Maggie and Went had made plans to take all four boys to the festival during the first week of summer vacation in June. It took some convincing and sneaking when it came to approaching Sonia with the idea given that she was overly concerned about the germs and diseases one could contract in such an environment. However, with some word twisting on Went’s part and a hint of his humorous charm, Sonia allowed Eddie to join the Toziers. Bill and Stan were each set and ready to go, but their traveling baseball team ended up doing better than predicted-- simply because a different team was disqualified for allowing a shorter seventh grader to play pitcher on an elementary team-- and were now in Portland for a round of end-of-season tournaments that Derry Elementary would certainly not last long in.

Because of this, it was just going to be Maggie, Went, Richie, and Eddie enjoying the festival.

They elected to have a larger lunch at the Tozier household before leaving because Eddie confessed his own terrors regarding the “poorly prepared” meat that fairs were notorious for. That was something Maggie could not even argue. She doesn’t know a single friend or family member of hers who has not had a bout of food poisoning after eating a questionable meat product at some amusement park, fair, festival, etc. 

Once they arrived and she covered both boys in a healthy layer of sunscreen, she and Went stuck to walking a few feet behind the boys as a way to give them an illusion of freedom. They were just twelve, but Maggie knew the idea of them hovering over their shoulders would be absolutely mortifying. However, there was absolutely no way that Maggie was going to allow those two to reign terror on their own. They started off their day running from game to game, failing rather miserably at each-- not quite recognizing that each game was a money-pit designed to infuriate children into throwing their parents’ money at the sleazy workers until they finally won the two dollar teddy bear that would lose an eye before the day ended. 

Maggie and Went indulged them anyway. Richie and Eddie made a variety of attempts at winning a large turtle plush from one of the balloon-popping stations but were unable to correctly aim all five darts seeing as each dart was weighted differently. After a significant dent was made in their cashwad, Went finally took charge and hit each balloon with accuracy and took claim over the large turtle. 

“And here you boys go!” Went announces, handing it to each of them since the thing was too big for one pair of skinny twelve-year-old arms to wrap around. 

Both eyes widen in excitement. Eddie’s face falters slightly which nearly makes Maggie step in to mediate any internal war brewing in the smaller boy. 

“You can keep it Rich.” Eddie offers. 

Maggie is about to step in and tell him not to worry that Went can easily win them the other one.

“No!” Richie says, pinching Eddie’s cheek with the hand not supporting the rather dense plush. Eddie squawks slightly at that and halfheartedly bats his hand away, a giggle unwillingly working its way past his lips. “We can _both_ keep it!” 

“How?” Maggie and Went share a look, certainly curious as to what the gears in Richie’s head are doing.

“We are both of Sir Ass-Face’s parents. We can take turns keeping him.”

Eddie contemplates this. “Okay. But we are not calling him _that.”_

“Why not? This line,” Richie says pointing at the stitching, “makes it look like his face is a big butt.”

“He’s not Sir Ass-Face you fucking idiot!” Eddie argues back loudly, prompting a few other parents to shoot daggers at Went and Maggie for not putting an end to the swearing. Clearly they have never had prepubescent boys. Maggie and Went had recently learned that boys around this age had just learned every swear in the book and felt obligated to weasel them into every sentence possible. It didn’t matter if the curse made no sense. Twelve year old boys simply enjoyed hearing the sound of cuss words and seemed to feel a fire of exhilaration each time one came from their own mouth. 

“Yes he is!” Richie suddenly has a twisted grin on his face. It’s the same grin he always gets just before he gets a rise out of Eddie. “Sir Ass-Face’s face looks just like your mom’s big, juic--”

“BEEP BEEP YOU ASSHOLE.” Eddie shouts, snatching the plush from Richie and knocking him in the stomach with it. 

Maggie and Went snicker slightly at this causing Richie to go off on a rant about his parents completely disregarding their own flesh and blood’s honor. The boys eventually settle as they approach the bumper cars and decide to name the turtle Tozbrak-- a rather pathetic attempt at combining their names. 

Maggie and Went, obviously past the age where slamming cars into each others elicits anything except thoughts of car insurance elect to watch the boys ruthlessly drive into each other. As Maggie expected, Richie refuses to crash his car into anyone except Eddie. Eddie makes a few futile attempts to knock into some other vehicles but is often thrown off course as Richie relentlessly knocks into him with a shit-eating grin upon his face. The two argue briefly upon getting off the ride. Eddie insists that Richie was not playing fair and Richie insists that Eddie simply sucks at bumper cars. They eventually calm down and sprint toward the petting zoo area.

There are few animals in pens being observed by the owner of the animals that Maggie knows to be Leroy Hanlon. He has a somewhat emotionless expression which one would not expect in somewhere as lively as a festival-- especially now that the sun is dipping down the horizon and all the neon lights are twinkling on each booth and ride. 

The boys stick their hands over the fences and are currently engaged with one of the baby goats.

“Do you want to feed him?” A kind voice asks. Maggie spots a tall boy holding some goat feed and clad in overalls and boots. “Not many people have come over here yet so we have plenty of food for people to give to them.” 

Maggie cannot say she’s surprised that most people are avoiding the Hanlon family’s animals. It has been rumored that the boy’s parents died in a fire as a result of their own meth lab or something like that. Maggie calls absolute bullshit on that seeing as she had met the family on numerous occasions whenever she decided fresh beef sounded better than some prepackaged stuff from the grocery store. She knew they were kind people and could not help but pity the boy before her. He was too young to have endured what he did.

“Yeah!” Richie says, cupping his hands.

“Uh,” Eddie seems somewhat scared. 

“It’ll be okay Spagheds! There’s soap right over there!”

“Yeah!” The boy reassures, “You can wash your hands afterward, I promise.” 

“Alright…” Eddie agrees.

“I’m Mike, by the way.” 

“I’m Richie and that’s Spaghetti.”

“Eddie. Don’t listen to him. He’s an asshole. Why haven’t we ever seen you before? What year are you?”

“I just finished sixth grade but I’m homeschooled.” 

“Hey! We just finished sixth too!” He thinks for a second. “Wow, so do you get to sleep all day and just do nothing?” Richie asks, giggling as the goat starts nibbling at the feed in his hands. 

Mike laughs at this. “No. I still do the same schoolwork you all probably do at your school and plus I have to help work around the farm anyway.”

“Damn that sucks. Unless it doesn’t.”

“He doesn’t have a filter. I’m sorry.” Eddie apologizes on Richie’s behalf. 

The three continue their conversation and Mike allows Richie and Eddie to help him feed the rest of the animals in the petting zoo they’ve set up. A few other children pop in and out to pet the animals but are quickly escorted by parents that have clearly fed into the rumors spread by the nastier individuals that Derry had to offer. After a good hour spent talking to Mike, the three exchange goodbyes and Mike makes his way back to his grandfather for any other tasks he must perform before they are to take the animals off the fairgrounds.

The Toziers take the boys around through a few other rides and games. Maggie annoys Richie with her camera by forcing him and Eddie to pose and smile for an abundance of pictures. Eddie is more than happy to flash his smile for the camera whereas Richie is continuously made to retake pictures as he is insistent on pulling some goofy face. They also make their way through a funhouse that Eddie thoroughly seemed to enjoy but left Richie feeling a little antsy afterward. Apparently the clown figures were enough to unsettle the boy and Eddie uses Tozbrak as a source of comfort for Richie. 

Their night is about to end so the two select the ferris wheel as the last attraction they want to enjoy before getting ice cream and heading back to the Tozier residence for a sleepover. Sonia was known to near-overdose on sleeping pills each night before bed so it was already planned for Eddie to stay the night with them even if his mother was against it. Luckily, she was content with the idea of him staying over and that meant no need to sneak him back into the house the next morning-- something the Toziers had done before. 

Maggie and Went decide to again sit this ride out and simply watch from afar as the boys hop into one of the swaying seats. As the wheel begins its steady spinning pattern, Maggie can easily spot the unsettled expression on Eddie’s face as they bob back and forth. Richie is quick to sense this and wraps an arm around the other boy’s shoulder. He turns to Eddie and whispers a few things in his ear, effectively melting the distress from his face.

Went squeezes Maggie’s hand as he observes this as well.

“Hush, you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“They’re twelve.”

“I had my first kiss when I was eleven.”

“Harlot.”

“Maggie did you just call me a _harlot?”_

“Hush.” Maggie bites back, chuckling to herself as she rests her head on his shoulder, prompting him to play with her hair with the hand that is not stuck holding the boys’ overstuffed turtle that miraculously has both eyes still attached.

The two boys bound over to them. “Icecream?” Richie asks. Went nods, stuffing the plush turtle under his armpit while he fishes around his pockets for his wallet. 

“Alright. Small cones only.” Went says, holding each boy a couple of dollars. 

“Of course good sir.” Richie says in his British guy impression, before grabbing Eddie’s hand in his own and pulling him toward the ice cream booth where a stubbly-faced man looks ready to commit a crime at the sight of children approaching him. They each order plain vanilla cones and return to Maggie and Went, hand-in-hand. Maggie glances at Went and smiles knowingly.

“To the car, kiddos?” 

“Yessir.” Richie replies, him and Eddie walking ahead of the adults without releasing their hands. Maggie is able to sneakily snap a picture from behind. 

By the time they find their car, the boys have finished their ice cream and sleepily climb into the back of the car. Went passes the turtle to the two boys who place Tozbrak in the middle seat and are sure to secure him with his own seatbelt. They each release jaw-cracking yawns and Maggie already knows that this will be one of their quieter sleepovers. They’re not even all the way out of the fairgrounds when Maggie turns around to see Richie completely knocked out, body slumped over the middle seat with his head resting against Eddie’s shoulder who has moved to lean closer to Richie.

Eddie blinks owlishly, clearly fighting sleep and oblivious to Maggie watching him. Eddie glances at Richie’s sleeping face and carefully moves his glasses off his face and holds them in his lap before readjusting himself in a way to not jostle Richie but to ensure that Richie is not straining his neck in order to lay against him. He then grabs Richie’s limp hand and holds it on top of their turtle child and falls victim to his own sleepiness. Maggie smiles at this before turning back around to hold Went’s hand in her own as they make their way back home.

Maggie loves all of Richie’s friends. She is so utterly thankful that Richie was able to find some incredible boys to put up with his antics. She loves Stan for his ability to keep Richie stable, Bill’s ability to inspire bravery, and Eddie’s to simply bring out a side in Richie that few people get to witness. She knows they each play a role that is vital in her son’s life but she truly knows the one that Eddie plays is pivotal in a way that neither of them will understand until they’re much older.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was she trash? 
> 
> probably.
> 
> so am i
> 
> roast me, hype me, tell me about your day 
> 
> my day was whack. why is their a toilet paper shortage? Wiping your ass isn't going to save you from corona virus.
> 
> Eddie would be the reason there are no lysol wipes at their local Target and Richie would be licking doorknobs because he is convinced he sounds sexy when he has a raspy voice. 
> 
> I need to be more serious about this situation but I’m desensitized to everything.


	12. Part II: Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE FUCKING GO KIDS. WELCOME TO IT CH. 1 ERA. 
> 
> This chapter is going to be significantly shorter than my usual 5-7k stuff because it is a very isolated event that I cannot add much to just yet simply because the next chapter will fall off CH. 1 slightly and contain noncanon content... sorry to disappoint. oof. I hope it's not too awkward or short or whatever. We'll get into heavier stuff later. Am big sorry. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm a little iffy with this chapter so I hope it's up to par with your standards but lets be real you had to lower your standards the moment you started reading this because I am a fucking asshole. :) I hope it's enjoyable nevertheless.
> 
> enjoy this shit or don't. 
> 
> friendly reminder to drink water, wash your hands, and stop touching your face you fuckin cutie.

Maggie knew something bad had happened to Georgie the minute she got the phone call.

**October 1988**

Maggie and Went moved to Derry because it was a safe place. Maggie had personally been through the area on a few occasions as a child and thoroughly enjoyed herself each time. Derry was a small town and it was a place where the Toziers could leave their doors unlocked and allow their only son to run around with his friends with little to no concern. Sure, there were some less-than-pleasant individuals in this town. That came with the territory of a small town-- small town mentality. An unfortunately large portion of Derry’s population exhibited rather enhanced levels of prejudice for various minority groups and that was something that always unsettled Maggie. The cutting words and aggressive slurs that half-witted individuals would grumble to their equally dense acquaintances or actually shout at unsuspecting victims was something that made Maggie uneasy and dream of a life in a more inclusive and humanistic city.

Despite the liberal and accepting nature a larger city would certainly have, Maggie knew her family would not be nearly as safe as they were in Derry. She did fear the future in regards to what Richie would inevitably encounter if her assumptions were correct. It was not something she could confirm seeing as he was just twelve, but she knew her son. She knew him well and she was certain that she had hit the nail on the head in regards to where her son’s heart lay. She could only hope that changes would come and her son would not have to endure the hatred and ugliness too many people in this town exhibited. 

Plus, the idea of moving out of Derry simply was off the table for a multitude of reasons. The first and most obvious reason was Went’s practice. Went was the primary dental provider in all of Derry and this was their main source of financial support. Sure, if they were to move they would be able to stay afloat for a while while he sought out something new seeing as having an independent practice truly paid off-- literally. However, Went’s practice, aside from Richie, was his pride and joy. He had opened it at such a young age and found substantial success in it. It was truly mesmerizing to see it grow over the years and it made the Toziers a household name across Derry-- sans those who did not understand the significance of dental hygiene (and the rotting teeth demonstrated their ignorance) or those whose insurance plan only applied to practices outside of Derry. 

Maggie could also not foresee them moving simply because of their home. She absolutely adored living in that house. It was, again a manifestation of the various triumphs she and her husband had built for themselves in their thirteen years of marriage and twelve years as parents. Their home was a host of various memories that Maggie could still bring to mind if she sat quietly and took in her surroundings for a few minutes. She could still hear the music that had been played during their First Dance while painting the nursery with Went, unable to contain her emotions (definitely amplified by hormones) as he twirled her around-- or at least attempted too with her shifted equilibrium. She could still clearly see Richie unsteadily taking his first steps, with chunky thighs and wobbly feet, across the living room toward Went’s open arms. She can still taste the cookies that Richie and Stan attempted to bake in the first grade, unaware that they had mixed up the amounts of salt and sugar required. She saw her marriage with Went grow and she watched her son go from a chubby newborn with colic to an eleven-year-old that was growing (too quickly) into a person that she knew would do incredible things. 

Richie was a large reason as to why Maggie contemplated moving out of Derry but also a reason as to why she did not want to. She was fearful of what he could potentially encounter in the future. He was too kind at best and a motormouth at his worst. Based on her observation, she believed that he held a predetermined quality in himself that should not have such negative connotations but there was no changing the narrowmindedness that infected the citizens of their town. Maggie could only hope that in years, progressive strides would be made and her anxieties would be expunged. Despite the relevance of her fears at the current moment, she could not bring herself to tear Richie away from his friends. She never saw him more genuinely happy than when he was with Bill, Stan, and Eddie. To take him away from those boys would be to take away his happiness. Maggie and Went could place him in a city where he could be accepted for everything that made Richie who he was, but they both knew Richie would not be who he was without those boys and to remove him from them would require vital parts of his personality to be stripped away.

Derry had its flaws. That was undeniable. The idea of getting out of the town was something that had crossed Maggie’s mind several times. It had even came to Went at a few points during the last five years as Richie became subject to more bullying and the nasty nature that was evident in some of the adults became reflective in their children. However, even with the parts that made Derry seem less than adequate, Maggie knew it was a safe place to live. In all her years of living there, there had been minimal crime and the only dangers were ones created by individual recklessness. 

She felt safe in her home and she knew her son was safe the minute he ran out the door for school everyday. He was now allowed to ride his bike to Derry Junior High with all of his friends and she saw absolutely no problem in this. She could count on him going right to school and coming home in one piece-- with the exception of some wounds inflicted by none other than Bowers. Bowers was definitely the biggest threat the town had to offer and the only thing that could make her feel even slightly unsafe when she let her son go out by himself. Besides that, there really was nothing that Maggie worried about in regards to Richie’s wellbeing and safety. She had plenty of other things to fret over as a mother and Richie coming home every single day was not one of them.

Until little Georige Denbrough went missing. 

Georgie Denbrough was an adorable little kid. Maggie absolutely adored the little six-year-old. He had the sweetest, almost angelic smile and it was obvious in just about everything that he did that he loved his big brother more than anything in the world. Bill often brought him over to their house whenever he came over to hang out-- not play because according to Richie , saying “play” was totally uncool now-- with her son. Richie and his friends were always more than willing to accomodate for Georgie when it came to their more intense games and always attempted to include him. However, more often than not, Georgie would toddle away and come see Maggie downstairs. She would let him play with Richie’s childhood toys she could not will herself to donate because getting rid of them officialized the fact that Richie was no longer a little boy. 

She, still missing the days where she had a child so small and innocent, would sit and play with him. Georgie truly appeared to enjoy her presence and was happy to have her company. He would tell her about school and his own friends that lived in the next neighborhood over-- making it slightly more difficult for him to see them in comparison to the ease Bill was blessed with when it came to seeing all of his buddies. Despite this, Georgie did not seem to be resentful as most children might be. There was not a bitter bone in the small boy’s body. He was so well behaved and she could see so much of Bill in him-- however he lacked the tough exterior Bill had possessed since childhood. There had been no reason for him to develop this seeing as he had the most protective older brother in all of Derry. Plus, he had three of his brother’s friends that were each more than happy to serve as backup when it came to Georgie’s safety. Everyone absolutely adored Georgie. So, when he went missing, everyone was absolutely devastated. 

October has been a rainy month in Derry. Maggie wishes she and her family had taken advantage of the last sunny days in Derry and had basked in the warm light. She could not recall the last day where the sky wasn’t covered with heavy clouds and the sky was not a muted grey that made her insides feel cold and her eyes heavy. Each workday seemed to drag on and the minute she got home, she wanted to do nothing more than to nap on the couch. This was not a side effect of her thirties as she had initially feared. Richie, usually bouncing off the walls and riddled with excessive energy, was also in a perpetually sleepy mood and would often nod off for an hour after schoo,l before forgetting his rain jacket and going off into the neighborhood to be with his friends. 

The torrential rain had left the storm drains flooded on most days and had caused many residences to be subject to water damage in their basements and on their roofs. The Toziers had been lucky with the way by which their house was elevated and had not been victims of said damage. The only issues Maggie encountered, besides the persistent grogginess this weather induced, was the fact that she, Went, and Richie were outside at least once a day with a bucket to drain any water collected on their pool cover. Their pool had overfilled once during a storm and that had been a pain to deal with. The other issue was the mud that Richie constantly tracked in given that he was typically oblivious to the viscous substance stuck to the bottom of the new tennis shoes he was already starting to grow out of. 

The day Georgie Denbrough disappeared had been perhaps the rainiest day Derry had experienced thus far. It was a Saturday and the Toziers had settled inside for the day. Richie had stayed the night at Stan’s the night prior and had just biked home earlier that morning. He had resembled a wet rat and was sporting two bloodied knees, claiming that something in one of the drains had said his name. As a result, Richie had gotten scared and swerved himself off the road and crashed into the sidewalk. Richie had an extremely vivid imagination and this was simply an instance where it must have gotten the best of him. Maggie sighed and made him leave his muddy shoes outside and told him to leave his wet clothes outside the bathroom so that he could rinse himself off in a warm shower. After that, Richie came down in his pajamas and settled himself on the couch with Went while Maggie popped three bowls of popcorn.

The lights flickered periodically throughout the day each time thunder shook the house or lightning lit up the sky. Despite the risk of a power outage, the Tozier family decided to turn the rather ghastly day into a peaceful movie day. Richie rarely spent his weekends at home. He was always running around with his friends and partaking in some adventure or getting himself into trouble for the mouth of his that seemed to get filthier each day. He had been grounded a few times for it in the last several months, but Maggie and Went were incredibly lenient in their groundings. They had accepted that such punishments were fruitless seeing as Richie’s ADD-riddled brain was quick to forget the lesson he was meant to learn and went back to filling his mouth with swears and crude insults. 

Stan was unavailable to hang out with friends most Saturdays anymore, so him and Richie typically had sleepovers either by themselves or with their other friends every Friday night in order to get as much time together as possible. Stan had service every Saturday and was fast approaching his bar mitzvah. This entailed hours spent studying the torah which Maggie could easily see was a great deal of pressure on the young boy. She understood the significance of it to the Uris family but she could practically feel the stress coming off off the boy in waves. Luckily, Andrea had gotten Stan in some therapy in order to get a hold on his officially diagnosed OCD. 

Eddie was off limits during weather like this. Occasionally, throughout this perpetually rainy month, the Toziers had managed to negotiate their way into having the boy come over and spend the whole weekend with them. However, those were rarities and Maggie knew better to call Sonia to see if Eddie would be interested in spending the day over at their place when the weather was this dreadful. 

Additionally, Sonia had quarantined Eddie because he supposedly had an allergic reaction to a cashew after school earlier during the week. When Maggie had inquired about his symptoms, she could not hide her confusion because, despite her most careful efforts, she had seen allergic reactions a few times in Richie and what Sonia said made absolutely no sense. She simply offered her well wishes toward Eddie and made a joke about how Eddie could help Richie out since Richie was prone to forgetting his own EpiPen. That had been a mistake seeing as the other mother lacked any sense of humor. Sonia had gone on a rant about that and insisted that sharing one would give her son AIDs. Obviously, this made no sense and Maggie had let the phone hang on the hook while the neurotic mother went on a factless rant about the spread of AIDs and how she believed Maggie to be an incompetent mother and just a bunch of other shit Maggie had heard countless times from the woman. 

Bill was out of the question seeing as he was apparently ill. On Friday, Richie had informed Maggie that Bill had thrown up just before he and Bill were supposed to give a presentation about mitosis to their science class. Maggie had phoned the family to ensure that he was okay and was informed that the boy was likely to be out of commission for the next few days. Poor thing. 

Maggie had a feeling this was yet another reason as to why Sonia was being so strict on this current quarantine. Maggie didn’t see the point. If her son was going to get sick, he was going to regardless of what measures she took now. He was around those boys so much that it would be of little surprise to her if Richie caught whatever they had. Oddly enough, Eddie with his supposed immunodeficiency disorders, rarely fell victim to illness. Maggie found it peculiar and had conducted her own research but still lacked any solid evidence to make any claims regarding _that_ situation. 

The boys had been lucky this year to have shared a majority of their classes together. Unfortunately, Stan had to endure his own science class without any of his own friends to make the class more bearable but he had apparently made acquaintance with a girl named Beverly Marsh. She had a reputation a mile long and Sonia Kaspbrak had ranted and raved about it to Maggie, Andrea, and Sharon on multiple occasions. Maggie couldn’t believe a word of it. The girl was just on the cusp of turning thirteen and although Richie had never talked to her, she had seen the girl at some school sanctioned events and sensed nothing except kind and spunky energy from the red-head. However, there was a feeling of distrust and unease that seemed to radiate off of her from Maggie could see. She wanted nothing more than to meet the girl and erase the fear behind her eyes. 

Although Richie was one to seek out stimulation from his friends at all hours, he seemed rather content to be snuggled between his parents with a warm bowl of popcorn in his lap as they watched movie after movie. Richie did not necessarily grow distant as he progressed through his adolescence, but he definitely saw hanging out with his mom and dad as something mildly embarrassing and began to decrease the time he spent with them. He also began to lower the level of affection he was willing to show toward them. He stopped giving Maggie kisses goodnight when seventh grade started. He would simply give her a one-armed hug. It was not unexpected seeing as she knew she had done the same thing and Went had as well. However, being on the receiving end truly hurt in a way that Maggie could not quite explain. She would not scold him for it seeing as she already knew it would be senseless. He would eventually grow out of this phase and go back to physically expressing his love for his family. Until then, his snuggly and touchy behavior was exclusive to his friends-- primarily Eddie. But right now, Richie seemed to lose all walls and appeared content to be tucked under her arm while Ferris Bueller’s Day Off played on the TV.

They experienced one power outage lasting a solid thirty minutes which warranted two games of Uno before they were able to continue their movie marathon. Despite the miserable weather, Maggie felt a sense of bliss. It was not common for their house to be so calm. It had not been in such a way since they had first moved in if she really thought about it. She always felt happy around her family, but today felt exceptionally special and almost fleeting and she could not quite pinpoint why. It felt odd and a sense of… fear(?) grew in the back of her brain for some reason. It definitely had to be her tendency to reminisce about Richie’s childhood or something like that.

The rain, although unstopping, grew quieter as the sky darkened not with the weather but simply as night took over. Richie was dozing slightly as Went put The Outsiders on. She was about to let herself doze with him when the phone rang. Slowly, as to not disturb her sleeping son, Maggie eased herself from under his slumped form and retrieved the device.

“Hello?” 

“Hi Maggie,” a shaky voice that she recognizes to be Zack Denbrough says. Maggie feels an unexpected chill rattle her spine at his voice. “I-I was wondering if you had seen Georgie by any chance.”

“No. I have not.” She leans against the wall, blood turning to ice. “Is he not home?”

“No.” He responds, sighing. “He went outside earlier today to play and he never came home. I’ve called all of his friends and all of Bill’s friends and no one has seen him all day. A few people saw him running outside earlier and that was it.” There’s a choked sound in his throat and Maggie can feel tears prickle her own eyes.

“I can start calling around the rest of the neighborhood for you.”

“There’s no need. Donald is already contacting the second half of my neighborhood list.” He sighs again. “Thank you so much, Maggie.”

“Of course. I’ll keep my eye out for him.” Something deep in her brain told her that would not be necessary and she immediately shook such negative thinking away. No. Nothing bad could have happened to the young boy. Derry was the safest place Maggie had ever been to. Nothing bad could happen to a boy as sweet as Georgie. If anything, he had simply tripped on the slick roads and ran off to get banagaed up at some neighbor. 

“Everything okay?” Went asks as she reenters the living room, keeping his voice low as Richie releases a soft snore.

“Um, that was Zack. They can’t find Georgie.”

“Mangoes.” Richie mumbles in his sleep, his body becoming aware of the empty couch and stretching to fill the space previously occupied by his mother. “They can’t float. Heavy.”

Went unwillingly laughs before composing himself. “Really? Are they--”

“Him and Donald are now calling everyone in the neighborhood. They’ve called all of his friends and Bill’s. No one has seen him so far.”

“That’s… that’s concerning.” Went gets up and heads to the front door, locking it. Maggie’s stomach sinks. They’ve rarely ever done that. They have always been an open door family.

“He probably just got hurt.”

“Mags, if he got hurt someone would have called the Denbroughs immediately. Everyone in this neighborhood knows each other.”

Maggie does not want to admit that her husband is right. “I really hope they find him by tomorrow.” 

xXx

They did not find him. Maggie wakes up to a phone call from a hysteric Sharon. She informs her that they made a police report regarding Georgie’s absence and that the last person to see him was an older woman in their neighborhood who reported seeing blood on the street at some point but thought nothing of it. Maggie is appalled at her ability to turn a blind eye at such a scene. Maggie can only hope that the blood did not belong to a certain six-year-old but Sharon has already convinced herself that it has to be his and that she will never see her little boy again.

Maggie finds herself crying silently as Sharon mourns the potential loss of her son-- something Maggie is believing to be incredibly likely. Went places a hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently as she succumbs to her own motherly emotions. It hasn’t been too long so Maggie does not want to think such thoughts but the idea has entered her mind and it does not seem as if it will be leaving anytime soon. She cannot even bear to imagine the idea of Richie not coming home to her one night and having to endure this experience. The sheer thought of it makes her stomach turn and her heart palpitate uncomfortably. Sharon spends a good hour on the phone with her before informing her that she has to go back to trying to find her son. She has done a total 180 within their phone call and is not attempting to convince Maggie that Georgie is simply playing a game and will be home soon. Maggie feels sick. 

A groggy Richie enters the kitchen, his hair a mess, eyes foggy behind his glasses. Went had carried him to bed after he and Maggie discussed the Denbrough situation and Maggie had made him lock Richie’s windows while Richie slept-talked about mangoes and their weight. 

“Hi, mama.” He greets, preparing a bowl of cereal for himself. “What’s wrong?”

Maggie glances up at Went who is now pouring himself his second cup of coffee. “Honey, something happened yesterday.”

“I figured that much.” He says, spooning cereal into his mouth. 

Maggie sighs, wiping away the tears from her eyes. “Bill’s dad called last night. They couldn’t find Georgie and had to declare him missing this morning.”

“What?” Richie says, spoon slipping from his fingers and clanging against his bowl. 

“Georgie is missing.” Went says. “They don’t know what happened to him.”

xXx

**November 1988**

Bill ends up not going to school for a long time. Richie returns home right after school, never accompanied by friends. He has a perpetually solemn expression as day after day goes by without a sign of little Georgie Denbrough. There is talk that he could have been swept away by the flooded storm drains and drowned. The image unwillingly creeps into Maggie’s mind and she finds herself dreaming of her own son drowning in a storm drain. 

There has been absolutely no sign of the boy but they plan on continuing the search for a presently undetermined amount of time. Maggie knows the police are searching for a body more than a little boy. Twenty-four hours is long enough to expect a child to be deceased if there is no sign of them. Georgie has been declared missing for almost two weeks. Prior to this incident, Maggie’s worst fear was outliving her son. That’s all parents’ worst fear. No parent wants to bury their child. Statistically speaking, it is likely that the Denbroughs will be forced to commit such an act. Maggie’s fear changed the Monday after the declaration and she saw posters of Georgie Denbrough’s smiling face and some standard information below it. Her worst fear is having to make one of those posters for her son. 

Losing a child sounds like it should be the worst thing to happen to a parent. Maggie thinks losing a child and not knowing what happened to them is even worse. 

The hope in finding the little boy decays with each passing hour. Zack has informed Maggie that Sharon has become listless and will not leave her bed. Richie has attempted to visit Bill but he is refusing visitors. Maggie’s heart goes out to that entire family. 

The town seems to have experienced a shift overnight. People appear fearful and there seems to be a heavy atmosphere weighing on the town with this news which does not necessarily add up. Sure, a missing child is absolutely horrific but the change in Derry should not be induced by such an isolated incident. There is an eerie darkness that seems to have encompassed the town overnight. Feelings and actions that demonstrate nothing except fear, anger, and hatred are exhibited more than ever. It makes Maggie feel… unsafe. 

Georgie’s disappearance does not feel right. Nothing feels right to Maggie right now. Kids have gone missing in Derry before. But they always turn up and it’s usually a simple miscommunication or a runaway situation. This feels different. So different and Maggie has felt a sense of unease since October rolled around with its ghastly weather and persistent floods. The Denbrough boy is officially missing as of nine this morning and suddenly, Derry does not feel so safe anymore.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i lost a paper boat down a drain that my brother made me i wouldn't give a fuck. rip to georgie but im different. 
> 
> So some universities are closing for the remainder of the semester? Um? Fuck? Stay safe and healthy!
> 
> I like writing long notes no one is gonna read bc y'all just came here for the fuckin Reddie bullshit but Ima write this shit anyway: I am a sucker for "The Losers as ______" videos and I'm in a dilemma. I always see people tagging Richie and Eddie as Jeffree and Shane. I can't decide which one fits each though because it always changes. On one hand I see more Richie in Jeffree because he is so fucking dramatic but also he is chaotic like Shane. And with Eddie, he's definitely more sassy like Jeffree but also more paranoid and wary in the way Shane is. Idk. I recommend following RE Trash on youtube. They make Losers as TikTok videos and they are actually spot on and there are 28 parts so if you are unable to do fuckin anything because of this pandemic, bINGE IT BABY! 
> 
> Have stellar days kiddos.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for slurs by one Sonia Kaspbrak. we do not stan her here. 
> 
> Oh shit, here we go I start online class tomorrow and want to swallow glass. Ooooof. Hopping away from canon just so I can make Maggie even more heroic. That's my religion. Also, despite following CH. 1, am not keeping it fully canon with adults and parents turning a blind eye. That's not the kind of shit I dig. I spit on Stephen and Andy and told them I didn't really give a fuck. Also, if I made them oblivious, I wouldn't have a fuckin fic here. So, that's that. 
> 
> I don't know how this is gonna go. I have no self worth. We established that. So it could be trash. It could be great. I'll call it trash no matter what because that's my brand, baby. I hope it's still enjoyable because if not I don't know. Sorry? I'd offer to venmo you for your next coffee run but TikTok fame hasn't kicked in yet. I'm broke. 
> 
> Medicine by Daughter is the perfect Eddie Kaspbrak song.

Maggie knew that Eddie was perfectly healthy and that his mother had been lying to him.

**April 1989**

Sudden disappearances did not stop with Georgie. After he seemingly vanished out of thin air, multiple other children had gone missing. Some, like Georgie, left absolutely no trace. Others, however, were found in pieces. Literal pieces. Remains in the form of bloodied limbs were frequently discovered in Derry. Each time another poster went up or a paper dropped about a found body part, Maggie found herself violently ill in the bathroom. Derry was no longer the safe place she had raised her son in. There was something doing this to these children and no one could figure it out. In fact, no one seemed too interested in figuring it out. Maggie could not say she blamed the detectives involved. 

It was obvious that these missing children were the victims of the same maniac seeing as the remains that were found were generally found in the same state: torn apart and ripped away from childrens’ bodies in a way that would mimic a wild animal. Initially, many parents believed something akin to a werewolf or some other nightmare-ish monster was committing such crimes. However, given that it was unlikely that any animalistic creature had a taste specific to children, it was quite clear that the figure behind these crimes was certainly human. Whoever was committing these crimes was clearly violent and disturbed in a way that even the most graphic of horror films could not adequately portray. 

With each missing child, the curfew enforced by the town of Derry grew earlier and earlier. Few children followed this curfew seeing as they saw no point in it given that many children had vanished in broad daylight. One of the missing children had walked off the high school track to retrieve their spikes and never returned. Their foot was found in the woods by an unsuspecting hiker. Maggie, however, did force Richie to abide by this curfew. Her nights were riddled by nightmares of bloodied limbs that were skinny and bony like her son’s. She dreamt of missing posters that read:  **RICHARD WENTWORTH TOZIER.** She would wake up gasping as she was forced to bury an empty coffin-- like the Denbrough family did back in March after they finally called off the search for Georige. 

That had been absolutely gut-wrenching to witness. Sharon had been in hysterics the whole time and could not bring herself to utter a word as she collapsed in front of the blown-up picture of Georgie, surrounded by flowers, that sat in the center of the room. Zack had to pull her body away and force her into a chair while a priest spoke words that celebrated a life taken far too soon. 

Bill, however, is what scared Maggie most. He was in complete denial that his brother was most likely dead. He had a bitter expression through the whole service. His developing jaw was set tight and not a single tear fell from his eyes. Richie had approached him afterward and offered him a gentle hug and ended up receiving the brute force of Bill’s anger in the form of accusatory words prompted by Bill’s insistence that everyone was just giving up on his brother and that Georgie was still alive and waiting for him somewhere in Derry. Richie refused to argue with the boy and simply offered his own wishful beliefs that they would all find Georgie soon. 

Maggie never wanted to go through what that family had and the many others were currently going through. Some parents had yet to call off their own searches and Maggie would hear wrecked voices screaming names into the night in hopes of hearing a reply from a voice that would never be heard again. She would see some parents standing out of local hotspots or outside the school, hoping to see their child’s face somewhere in the sea of kids-- kids that could be the next one to disappear and only reappear in the form of poor-quality posters. 

The dreams she had caused her to sprint out of bed most nights and into Richie’s room. She would burst in and find him sprawled out in his bed, shirt ridden up to expose soft skin and his mouth slightly agape as soft snores gurgled in the back of his throat. She would approach him quietly and make sure that all limbs were intact and that he was indeed breathing. She would then return to bed where a groggy Went would await her with open arms and hold her close as she sobbed into his chest. He would not admit it to her, but Maggie knew he had done the same thing on multiple occasions. 

She had grown slightly more protective in the last several months. She was strict on Richie’s curfew and had gotten in a few arguments with him in regards to where he was allowed to go by himself. He always wanted to go off and play Street Fighter at the movie theater, but she would only allow him if she was the one dropping him off or if one of his friends was accompanying him. He had, on more than one occasion, lied about having someone with him and that had warranted a few groundings that she refused to be as lenient on as she had in the past. It definitely put a slight strain on their relationship and that was absolutely crushing to her. He had developed a slight attitude and was quick to snap at her and Went treating him like a baby. He was not able to comprehend why she was so scared for his safety but his bitterness was worth it if it meant that he was safe.

She knew she had grown significantly stricter in the last few months, but her behavior was nothing in comparison to Sonia Kaspbrak. The only time Richie ever got to see Eddie beyond school hours now was whenever Eddie fabricated some school project or he was able to sneak past his dozing mother and bike over to one his friends’ houses. Eddie was incredibly sneaky and always found a way to be with Stan, Bill, and Richie. Besides that, Sonia had become a tyrant upon her son. He was not allowed out of the house for anything except school. She was constantly insisting that he was ill and took him to the ER more than she ever had in the past. The amount of medication Eddie was on had nearly doubled since autumn and that was absolutely absurd in Maggie’s opinion. 

There really did not seem to be any solid evidence that suggested that Eddie truly needed the medication he took. Sure, one could argue that this was because the effects of his various conditions had been mitigated with the help of his medications. But, with the severity of the supposed illnesses Eddie had had in the last several months, no lingering effects made their presence known. Eddie reportedly had pneumonia back in December and after his three week quarantine, he returned to school bright-eyed and without the slightest crackle in his lungs. When Stanley Uris had bronchitis back in November, he spent weeks with a lingering cough and Maggie genuinely forgot what the boy’s voice sounded like as he was hoarse for nearly a month  _ after _ recovering. 

Additionally, Eddie seemed the most physically capable in comparison to the other boys. He supposedly had brittle bones and a nearly nonexistent immune system. But, there was nothing to confirm that in Maggie’s eyes. He displayed a level of stamina and athleticism that should not be obvious in someone as “fragile” as he was. Anytime he was ill, it never appeared more severe than a cold. Maybe the occasional flu-- but he was in a public school setting; that was a given. He’d never needed stitches nor broken a bone. This was primarily because Sonia prevented him from doing anything physically active beyond riding the bike the Toziers had gifted him-- which was a feat in itself. But, like all kids, he had toppled from the monkey bars or stumbled off his bike and never had anything more than a mild scrape. The boy had yet to even sprain anything. He really did not appear as frail as Sonia raved on and on about.

Went, despite his medical background being near-exclusive to the mouth and its workings, could verify based on his own knowledge, that Eddie exhibited zero symptoms of the various disorders and conditions that Sonia would write on his medical history form that he kept in the office. He was aware that sharing such information with Maggie was a severe violation of patient confidentiality, but as they learned more about Eddie’s situation and inability to escape his house because he was “sick,” their concerns only grew. Plus, if anyone were to discover this infraction, Went could easily cover it up by reminding someone that Maggie was a receptionist and responsible for organizing his paperwork. 

As the town proved to be less safe than Maggie initially believed, the chances that Sonia was actually lying about her son and  _ to  _ her son became increasingly more realistic to Maggie. She was not going to confront her with her suspicions seeing as that was a solid way to wreck the blessed friendship that Richie had with Eddie. Sonia did not take kindly to any criticism and would not tolerate anyone implying that she was even slightly in the wrong.

Maggie desperately wished that she could take Eddie out of that home. He deserved a sense of freedom. Perhaps, not as much freedom as Maggie would typically have granted given the state Derry was in, but a sense that he was capable and did not need to be sheltered. There was no way of proving that these ailments were indeed exaggerated or potentially nonexistent-- until some careless parent failed to mention there were peanuts in the cookies at the seventh grade bake sale. 

When Maggie first discovered that Richie had a peanut allergy, she was required to practice with a training EpiPen. It was one that was slightly smaller than the one he was supposed to keep with him at all times and lacked the needle and medication necessary to reduce the severity of an allergic reaction. She had become a master at using the thing and only had to use the real thing on him a handful of times. The most recent occasion had been when he got mad at her in the sixth grade for grounding him for swearing at a teacher and not allowing him to go rollerskating with Eddie. His (rather stupid) way of getting back at her had been eating a spoonful of the peanut butter she kept hidden on a top shelf. The house was practically clear of all peanut products or anything that could have been cross contaminated-- with the exception of her trusty jar of Skippy. It was the only thing that kept her feeling sane during certain times of the month. It wasn’t even twenty minutes later after he bitterly shoved the substance into his mouth that she found him wheezing in the kitchen and covered in an angry rash.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” She had screamed, noticing the barstool placed in front of the pantry and the freshly-licked spoon that sat in front of him. She had immediately gotten an EpiPen out of the bathroom. He attempted to scream back but only managed to wheeze around his swollen tongue and didn’t react as she stabbed the needle into his thigh given that his focus was on attempting to breathe. She ended up taking him to ER to ensure that he was okay and was sent home with a prescription for a week’s worth of antihistamine ointment for the stubborn rash that covered a majority of his face. Maggie now hid her Skippy jar in a shoebox in her closet.

He ended up having an extended punishment for that and since the fiasco of missing children had not started yet, it was rather minimal in that they let him hang out with his friends two days later. Richie had had a few scares since his diagnosis besides that one, most of which were managed by himself. He knew his way around an EpiPen and had been forced to use the thing on himself a few times at school when he accidentally consumed something that had been cross contaminated or on a few instances when he got jealous of watching his friends enjoy Reeses’s peanut butter cups at lunch. 

Having a food allergy for a product so commonly used meant that it was somewhat inevitable that Richie would have at least one reaction per year-- especially because many parents were careless and failed to adequately label their homemade goods. This did not bode well with the fact that Richie was incredibly forgetful. For the most part, Richie tended to be on top of keeping his Epipen secure in his locker or in his backpack. Despite this, Richie’s buzzing mind, often forgot to get a new one for his bag after he had been forced to use one. 

After several children had fallen missing, some children took it upon themselves to put on a bake sale in order to provide financial support for the families suffering-- unaware that some of them would too become victims of whatever force was behind these disappearances. It was a good idea in theory, but in reality, no amount of money raised by a few sugary snacks could bring any approximation of peace for the grieving families. 

Maggie knew the whole thing pissed Bill Denbrough off beyond belief. He believed that accepting money was yet another way of everyone dismissing his brother’s existence. He bitterly acknowledged the well-wishes given by teachers and students. Holding this bake sale, to Bill, was everyone confirming that Georgie and all the other kids were indeed deceased.

The only positive that came out of his brother’s  _ missing  _ status was that the bullying that was typically relentless, had come to an abrupt halt. It was odd that it took the disappearance of their victim’s brother for the Bowers gang to let up on their teasing, but it was something that Maggie knew Richie, Stan, and Eddie welcomed with open arms. Bill, however, would have taken merciless teasings and beatings from all of Bowers’ friends if it meant that Georgie was still with him. 

Bill appeared to be boycotting the week-long bake sale, according to Richie. So he was forced to convince Stan to distract Bill while he went and bought himself some goodies. Richie had a sweet tooth and sitting at lunch while watching others purchase brownies, cakes, and cookies was “torture” as he had informed Maggie after school earlier that week.

“I could just make you something here, you know?” Maggie offered, as Richie breezed through his Algebra homework.

“Yeah, but I want it at school.”

“I can pack it, baby.” Maggie laughs, moving to ruffle his hair, which he squawks defiantly at. 

“It’s… different when it’s bakesale food though.” Richie thinks for a second. “I’ll still take something for here too, though if you’re so desperate to make me something.”

“Of course.” Maggie chuckles. “Just don’t let Bill see you get anything. You don’t want to upset him.”

“I know.” Richie’s face falls slightly. “Am I a bad friend for thinking Georgie is… you know?”

“No, honey. But, don’t let him know you think that. He’s hurting a lot right now.”

“I know. I would  _ never  _ tell him that.” His face falls slightly and a guilty look creeps up his face. “I’ve made some jokes ‘bout the other kids. I think he’s kinda annoyed at me.”

“Richard, you shouldn’t make light of all of this.” Maggie scolds. She knows the situation is more stressful to Richie than he lets on. When Eddie Corcoran had gone missing, Richie had nearly thrown up because when the news first broke, he only saw that an “Eddie” was missing and had immediately believed that  _ his  _ Eddie was missing. 

“I know, I know.” Richie huffed out. Humor was his coping mechanism. There was no changing that.

So, Richie, despite feeling guilty about buying from the bake sale that appeared to greatly offend Bill, did end up purchasing a few snacks to split with Eddie. He also had a cookie set aside for Stan as payment for getting Bill to eat lunch in the library with him that day so they could “study.” Stan would have probably done it for free seeing as the chaos that was typical in a public school cafeteria was enough to fray on Stan’s sensitive nerves. 

Eddie had been hesitant in indulging in such snacks seeing as he had his own allergies to worry about, but Richie talked him into splitting the snacks during their lunch period together. Unfortunately for Richie, one of the cookies had peanut butter chips mixed with the chocolate ones. It was due to this that Maggie got a phone call that nearly stopped her heart at Went’s office.

“Tozier Dental, this is Margaret Tozier speaking.” Maggie greeted, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she filed away the paperwork of the morning patients. 

“Hi, Mrs. Tozier? This is Mrs. Larson from the Junior High.” Her voice was one of concern and not the usual prickly tone that came whenever Richie had mouthed off to a teacher or pulled some ridiculous prank-- the usual reason she received calls from the school. Maggie immediately felt her veins freeze. Had Richie vanished during lunch period? Did he decide to eat at one of the outside benches and get snatched away? Was she going to have to pretend her son was still alive despite all signs that pointed in the opposing direction?

She moves to hold the phone in her hands. “Hi, Mrs. Larson.” Maggie swallows, barely able to hold the phone with her shaking palms. “Did something happen with Richie again?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We had to call an ambulance for him today as he had a rather severe allergic reaction to one of the bake sale items.” 

Maggie, although more than aware of the severity of such a situation cannot help but be relieved. “Oh, okay. Did he not have his EpiPen?”

“He did not, no. Edward Kaspbrak informed us that Richard did not have one in his locker and attempted to use his own on Richie but for some reason it didn't work so we took initiative and had him sent to the Emergency Room as you consented to in his medical forms.”

“Of course, thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Is there anything I need to do on my end?”

“No, nothing. We will be sure to make sure adequate labels are placed on bake sale items in the future. We are terribly sorry for the incident and hope Richard will be okay and back again.” Her tone borders on disingenuine at the last bit. It is not a secret that despite being at the top of his class, that Richie annoys a majority of the staff with his antics. Maggie had made multiple attempts in controlling Richie, but his hyperactivity and goofy nature was a part of his personality and there was no putting an end to that. 

Luckily their own lunch hour was to start after Went’s current client left and then they would be free for an hour so she had ample time to call her bump-out to come in earlier. She knew Went would be disappointed in spending lunch without her this time but he would be too concerned for their son to really give a damn. They could canoodle later while their son slept away the effects of the adrenaline he was to receive. 

Once a sullen faced patient left with their partner, Maggie approached Went as she slid on her spring jacket. 

“I have to go. Richie’s school just called and he had an allergic reaction and was sent to the E.R.”

“Jesus Christ. Did he not have his--”

“Nope.” Maggie sighs, “And apparently Eddie’s didn’t work for him.”

“Shit.” Went says, “Well keep me updated and make sure to call whenever you are able to take him home, okay?”

“Will do.” She presses a quick kiss to his lips before making her way out the door.

xXx

Once Maggie arrives at the hospital she is informed that Richie is doing fine now that he has received a shot of epinephrine and should be okay to go home. They’ve done this enough times that there is no need for him to turn this into an overnight stay. What concerns her, however, is the fact that the initial shot that Eddie gave him did not work. There’s no way Eddie would not know how to do it. 

He had been using his own for years and had become somewhat of an expert when it came to handling any of his friend’s ailments. Despite the ridiculous nature of Sonia’s parenting, she had taught him how to properly disinfect and care for the various scrapes his friends earned on the daily. He was quick to recommend the appropriate treatment plan for any sickness they fell victim to and always provided a list, in his elegant penmanship, of tips of how to handle whatever “plague” they were stricken with. Maggie obviously knew how to treat her son whenever he hurt himself or was ill, but she could not help but smile at the delicate handwritten notes that Eddie would give to Richie anytime he was less than one hundred percent.

Maggie enters the room that Richie is currently settled in, face pale and mottled with the remnants of his usual rash. It’s painfully red still and she thinks she’ll want to get him a prescription level antihistamine for it. He was clearly attempting to take a nap but immediately opens his puffy eyes when he hears the familiar clack of her heels against the tile. 

“Hi, mama.” He greets weakly, voice slightly hoarse. 

“Hi sweetie. How are you feeling?” She sits on the corner of his bed.

“Been better.” He laughs bitterly. “I think Bill knew I was buying from the stupid bake sale and was mad and planned this because he was boycotting the whole thing.”

Maggie snorts at this. “You’re ridiculous. So you forgot your pen?”

Richie groans, slumping against his pillow. “I meant to put it in my backpack after we got the new one, but I think I left it in my room.”

“Well, that’s not very helpful now is it?” She teases, stroking his splotchy cheek with her hand.

“I didn’t mean to.” Richie pouts, sitting up as a doctor pulls open the thin privacy curtain. “Can I go home?”

“You should be good to go, Mr. Tozier. I just need your mom to sign your discharge papers. Any questions?”

“Yes, actually.” Maggie says. “First, is there any possible way we can get a prescription for an antihistamine? This,” she indicates to the rash around his mouth and neck, “always irritates him for a while and takes forever to go away.”

“Yeah, of course. I can get that written up right now.” The doctor gives them a slightly gap-toothed smile before pulling out a pad to scratch something in handwriting only a pharmacist can read. 

“Thank you. Also, I understand that his friend used a pen on him at school and it didn’t work at all. He’s never shown any immunity to them before and I was wondering if there was a reason for that?”

“Oh?” The doctor looks confused for a second. “Is this the same pen that was brought in with him today?”

“Yeah, the office made Eddie give it to the paramedics.” Richie chimes in. “His mom is gonna be pissed, I’m sure.” He grumbles.

“Uh well,” the doctor scratches his head. “The EpiPen that the paramedics had was actually a trainer pen. It had no needle in it at all.”

Maggie looks at Richie. “Did he give you the wrong one by mistake?”

“No? Eddie only carries one. I didn’t realize there was no needle. I can never feel it because I’m usually too focused on the fact that I can’t fucking breathe.”

“Richie, language.” Maggie scolds, her stomach shifting uncomfortably at this particular information. “So, Eddie’s mom gave him a trainer one?” 

“I mean I don’t know if she  _ meant  _ to, mom.” Richie responds, clearly antsy. “Can we just go home? Please?”

“Alright, thank you.” Maggie relents, taking the prescription from the doctor who clearly looks uncomfortable. “I appreciate everything.”

“It’s no problem. If he starts experiencing any adverse side effects, bring him back in.”

“Of course, thank you again.”

xXx

Maggie gets Richie settled in bed and has already taken initiative in leaving a message for Went regarding Richie’s state. Richie is always drained after episodes like this and she already plans on keeping him home from school. She does not necessarily want to leave him home alone while she goes to have his prescription taken care of, but she knows how pathetic he feels and doesn’t want to drag him around town. Her anxiety will certainly be through the roof the whole time, but she supposes she can push her luck with the speed limit and attempt to make this trip as quick as possible in order to minimize any chances of anything happening to Richie while he’s tucked away in bed. 

She’s about to grab her keys and head out of the house when there is a knock at the door. She peers through the side window and sees Eddie Kaspbrak clad in a coat too thick for the mild weather, holding onto some papers. She sees his bike tossed onto their driveway. He must have snuck past his mother in order to come over. 

“Hi Eddie.” She greets warmly as she opens the door.

“Hi Mrs. Tozier.” He smiles up at her. “I got Richie’s homework from his teachers today and wanted to make sure he got everything. I uh… I would have brought his backpack home but um… Henry Bowers kind of… he decided to poop in Richie’s backpack when we took him out of the cafeteria.” 

Maggie lets out a long sigh at that, taking Richie’s homework and pinching the bridge of her nose. Of course Henry Bowers would deem it appropriate to defecate in a seventh grader’s backpack when they were being escorted out of the school by paramedics. Despite going easier on Bill and his friends, it seems taking a shit in her son’s backpack was certainly not off limits. After all, it was Bill with the “missing” brother-- not Richie. 

“What an asshole.” She huffs. “Thank you so much Eddie.”

Eddie giggles a bit at that. “It’s nothing. Is he… is he okay?” Eddie’s face falls into one of worry. “I really tried to help. My mom is kinda mad that I shared my EpiPen with Richie but I was just so scared and then it didn’t work and I-I… I’m really sorry.”

“Honey, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You were so helpful to him today.” She thinks for a moment. “Eddie where and when did you get that EpiPen?”

Eddie cocks his head slightly, perturbed by this question. “Uh, my mom gave it to me. I’ve had it for a while, I think. Why?”

“No reason.” A thought occurs to her. “Did your mom give you another one by any chance? I’m just trying to see if there’s anything different between yours and Richie’s to figure out why it didn’t work for him.” 

“Yeah! She gave me a new one when I got home.” He quickly fumbles through his fanny pack, the sound of various pills rattling before withdrawing his device and handing it to Maggie. 

Maggie immediately knows the difference. The device is slightly smaller than the ones she’s had for Richie. She turns it around in her hand, seeing where the practice label has been peeled away from a monstrous mother. This isn’t a real EpiPen. The one Eddie attempted to use on Richie earlier was not real either. Sonia Kaspbrak peeled away a trainer label and knowingly gave her son a fake EpiPen. Sonia Kaspbrak lied to her son about his need for an EpiPen. Maggie knows she’s lied to him about just about everything else she’s told the poor boy that he supposedly suffers from. 

She hesitates before handing the device back to the boy. “Must have just been a really severe reaction on his end, huh?” She smiles weakly, not able to bring herself to inform the boy of the truth. 

“Yeah. Can I see him?”

“He’s currently asleep, sweetheart.” Maggie informs him. “He never feels too great after these happen.”

“I understand. I would have brought him home some of what he bought today, but the nurse made me throw them out because there might have been cross contamination or whatever.” Eddie offers a soft smile. “Will you let him know that I said hi and to call me when he feels up to it? I should probably get home before my mom wakes up and gets mad at me.”

“Of course, sweetie. We love you Eddie and thank you again.” 

“No problem, Mrs. Tozier! I’ll see you soon!”

Maggie shuts the door and places Richie’s homework on the table. Tears prickle her eyes at her discovery. She is about to push the thought away and head over to the pharmacy but then Eddie’s face swims back into her head. His unnerved expression at the fact that he had been unable to help his son-- clearly blaming himself. His sad doe-like eyes when he apologized to her for something totally beyond his control. His sweet face, innocent and oblivious to his mother’s trickery. Her sadness is replaced by fury. Fire burns in her gut and she grabs the phone and dials Sonia Kaspbrak’s number. 

“Hello, Sonia Kaspbrak speaking.” She greets, clearly groggy. Her voice is enough to snap something in Maggie.

“You’re something else, you know that, Sonia?” Maggie seethes. 

“Maggie?” Sonia seems shocked. Her tone quickly melts into bitterness. “ _ My  _ son was forced to waste his EpiPen on your son all because he was too irresponsible to reme--”

“Cut the shit, Sonia.” Maggie snaps. “That EpiPen was a fucking trainer pen and the  _ new  _ one you gave him was one too.” She winces slightly, knowing she’s just outed the fact that Eddie has snuck out of the house. It doesn’t matter right now. 

“What are you--”

“The paramedics took the one Eddie used and I asked to see Eddie’s just now. You gave him a practice pen because you know he doesn’t need one because you’re  _ lying  _ to him. You’re fucking lying to your son. You are  _ sick,  _ Sonia.”

“You had no right to take his. I could report you, you know.”

“I could report you to CPS. I think I will. Eddie deserves so much better than you. You’re holding him back and locking him away from his friends just because you’re sick in the head. You don’t deserve that boy.”

“Oh really?” Sonia laughs sporadically. “You do that and I’ll be certain your flamer son never sees mine again.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh everyone knows your son is a faggot, Maggie. Anyone can tell that he has eyes for  _ my  _ boy, the little pervert. You’re--”

“Shut the fuck up, Sonia.” Maggie nearly shrieks, her heart racing at the slurs being used against her boy. “You have no right to say such wretched things about Richie. What kind of person are you?”

“A  _ good  _ one. I know my son makes your little shit happy and I know your son and all those other brats make  _ my _ boy happy. I’ve been kind enough to let those friendships continue despite your son being  _ what  _ he is, that mushmouth with the dead brother about to crack, and that one kid being from that Jew family. You report me and I’ll be certain the school knows what kind of boy your son is and to ensure that no matter what happens to Eddie, he is  _ never  _ to be in contact with the likes of your boy or any of those freaks.” 

“You are  _ vile. _ ” Maggie hisses, tears of frustration spilling down her cheeks. It’s hard to say if there is any legitimate weight behind Sonia’s words, but given that she has successfully gotten away with lying to her son for thirteen years, it’s hard to say. Eddie deserves to know the truth and Maggie wishes she had just told the boy when he was here mere moments ago. “You are truly an awful mother, Sonia.” 

“I’m protecting him.” The other mother spits back. “In times like this, I’m doing him a favor. Goodbye Margaret.” 

Maggie lets out an almost inhumane sound as she buries her fists into her eyes before storming out the door and to her car. Her heart is pounding and her brain is going a mile a minute. She knows she should just ignore Sonia’s words and report this… this  _ abuse  _ to CPS or the police-- no not them, they’re a bunch of negligent motherfuckers that have sons that shit in other kids’ backpacks. She wants to. She knows she should. The idea of not only her son being without Eddie and belittled by Sonia, but the idea of  _ Eddie _ being completely torn away by the three boys that give him something mimicking a normal life is what tells her it would be a bad idea. She wants to so badly, especially after Sonia uttered such repulsive slurs about her son. But she can’t. Not yet, anyway. 

Maggie pulls up to the pharmacy and hands over the chicken scratch to Mr. Keene. She knows she must look a mess with her tear stained cheeks that she had hastily wiped at before coming in. It did minimal in terms of giving her some semblance of appearing mentally sane. She simply nods in response to Mr. Keene’s questions as he goes off to fetch whatever the doctor prescribed for Richie. 

Mr. Keene is a creepy man to say the least. He always makes rather off-putting comments to the women that enter the pharmacy-- regardless of their age. His daughter, Gretta-- a rather mean-spirited girl known to bully others-- has recently turned fourteen, and Maggie has seen him flirt with girls her age and _younger_. Maggie has received more than her share of flirtatious commentary and has ignored it in favor of signing whatever needed signed and paying little mind to whatever lowbrow comment the older man makes. 

Suddenly, something occurs to Maggie as the other man seals the cream in a paper bag. Eddie is independent in that he is the one to fetch all of his own medications and EpiPens. Mr. Keene gives Eddie all of the various fake medications and fake EpiPens. There is no way he is oblivious to the situation. He has to know that he’s supplying placebos and giving the younger boy trainer pens. Mr. Keene is in kahoots with Sonia Kaspbrak and is enabling the lies. Her normal desire to disregard the man is suddenly replaced with an urge to scream at him.

Maggie quickly signs off for the medication and snatches the bag from him with haste that she has never exhibited before him. Mr. Keene is clearly taken aback. Maggie feels the anger simmering within her and something in her snaps as Eddie’s face swims into her mind once more.

“You’re a sick sonofabitch, you know that.” Maggie growls, stuffing Richie’s prescription into her purse. 

“I beg your pardon.” Mr. Keene chuckles something slimy, used to such remarks coming from the women and minor girls he’s attempted to woo. 

“You’re a piece of shit with zero morals.” Maggie feels her voice rising. She can spot Mr. Keene’s daughter in the corner of her eye, sucking on a lollipop and watching the scene unfold with a sudden interest. Maggie knows she should contain her anger and avoid making a scene in front of the young girl, but why not let this girl know what kind of man her father is-- especially because Maggie is unable to let Eddie know what kind of woman his mother is. 

“Mrs. Tozier, I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The man’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re giving the Kaspbrak boy placebo medication.” Maggie snaps loudly. “You somehow let his mother talk you into lying to that poor boy and have zero remorse in giving him medication he  _ doesn’t  _ need and a fake EpiPen, which he tried to use for my son today which is why my son ended up in the emergency room today.” 

The man stammers pathetically but Maggie refuses to let him get anything out.

“You’re lying to that innocent boy and you allow his mother to convince him that he’s sick when he’s perfectly healthy. I know he is. Anyone with eyes can tell he doesn’t have any of those bullshit disorders he thinks he has and you allow it to happen. You’re just as bad as his mother. You should be ashamed of yourself. You should lose your fucking license.”

Mr. Keene’s face is not unlike that of a child caught with their grubby hands in a cookie jar. He is at a loss of words and says nothing as Maggie storms out of the pharmacy. She plops her purse on the seat, wiping away the angry tears that unwillingly escaped her eyes for the upteenth time today. She cannot help but feel anger, sorrow, and sadness when she thinks of Eddie and all that poor boy is subject to merely because his mother is warped beyond belief. She feels helpless and like she’s failing as a mother in that she cannot bring herself to report this or tell Eddie herself.

She can only hope that her words are enough to give Mr. Keene something resembling a conscience to put an end to indulging Sonia’s sickness by prescribing Eddie fake pills for the various afflictions he does not have. She releases a shallow breath, returning her focus to getting home to Richie as fast as she can as thoughts about missing children rears its ugly head in her mind. As she drives, she not only thinks of who is behind these missing children and getting home to her son, but every wrongdoing Sonia has induced upon Eddie in the years she has convinced him that he was weak, fragile, and needed her “protection.” 

Whoever is behind these missing children is not the only monster in Derry.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you know where this shit about to go...This will result in Eddie discovering his gazebos obviously bc we had greta there to be like oh damn maggie a bad bitch. Oh shit. SHOUTOUT TO MAGGIE FUCKIN TOZIER. the only mom we stan in this house!!!!
> 
> Fun fact tho: The peanut butter hiding thing is inspired by my older sister because after having 3 children with 0 allergies, her last child decided to be allergic to EVERYTHING under the sun. That shit is expensive. He's allergic to all nuts/tree nuts, milk, eggs, and a few other things. They haven't tested him for anything else yet because he's only one and allergy testing is really hard on infants. My sister LOVES peanut butter and obviously can't have it in front of him so she keeps it hidden in a shoebox and uses sunflower seed butter for most things... but sometimes, after a shitty day, ya gotta treat yourself right. 
> 
> Corona quarantine sucks. I miss my college friends. I miss my college gym. I miss my sorority. I am big sad. This all feels like a poorly written young adult dystopian novel. I hope the protagonist finishes their quest or whatever so we can all go back to normal. I feel like the protagonist is a thirty year old postal worker that collects photo frames from TJ Maxx without removing the black and white pictures that come with them that falls for some gawky looking dude that works for the CDC. Idk. 
> 
> Richie coughed today. Eddie is about to call the CDC.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This INCREDIBLY SHORT chapter is brought to you by my own personal sadness and by Vance Joy's "Great Summer" which played while I was writing this and it made me laugh hysterically. 
> 
> will it be decent? I don't know. I tried. I'm in a mood. Am sorry for it being short. It is a rather isolated event and doesn't warrant a whole lot? Idk? I'm annoyed that it's the way it is and I kinda wanna throw something but whatever.
> 
> Next chapter will hopefully be better because I'm mildly excited to delve into that subject matter. eheh. :) Stay tuned, kids!

Maggie knew it was not Richie’s fault the moment she heard Sonia on the phone.

**July 1989**

Summer was typically a welcome presence in the Tozier household. However, this one was proving to be horrific to say the least. They didn’t even decide to open their pool this year. There was far too much going on for anyone to think about swimming laps or sitting by the pool. Every single day it felt as if yet another child was declared missing while another’s remains were discovered. It was getting to the point where most parents were totally desensitized to the news and barely reacted to the sight of a new poster being tacked on top of older posters, as if the previous children were now forgotten and no longer worth the search. Maggie could not say she felt the same apathy many appeared to adopt in these times. Perhaps, they were merely trying to disregard the troubling news as a way of coping, but she could not do the same. The only time Maggie shared such feelings, and she hated to admit it, was when Patrick Hocksetter went missing. Each new face or new body part was enough to force her into a fit of hysteria.

All she could do was imagine it as _her_ son. Her nightmares had yet to cease. If anything, they got progressively worse and on more than one occasion Went had forced her to stay home from work as she kept herself awake after imagining her son’s face on a missing poster or in a newspaper that reported that he was **Found** … as a dead body. She saw what Georgie’s death (or his missing status as one must refer to it in front of Bill) did to his parents. It was truly gut-wrenching to see how the Denbrough family dynamic had shifted for the worst. 

Zack was colder. He never seemed to smile and had an incredibly short temper. His face was set in a permanent glare and his jaw was always set in a tight line. Sharon, however, was absolutely hysteric. Maggie had attempted to visit her and provide comfort in the form of gentle touches, soothing tones, and comfort food but it proved futile. The woman was absolutely listless at the best times, and driven to ugly, loud sobs at worst. Maggie knew Sharon would sleep in Georgie’s bed and in one of her attempts to console the woman, she found her on the floor clutching one of his shirts and crying herself sick. She and Zack were often at odds. He seemed to want to achieve normalcy and pretend nothing was happening even though his emotions spoke otherwise. She could not forget. On more than occasion, the police had been called to their house for a noise complaint when their shouts got too loud. They were both clearly suffering and it seemed as if they would be in this state for a long time coming.

Their suffering was totally valid. They had lost their son. Whether he be missing or dead, it was something no parent should have to endure. Unfortunately their own suffering blinded them to what their eldest (and potentially remaining) son was going through and how their actions were severely affecting him. Maggie could see it. She noticed it at the funeral and how the effects of all of this were slowly tearing the other boy apart. She wanted nothing more than to take him in and bring him some ease of mind. But even she knew that her own kindness and love would not be enough to eradicate the pain he felt for his lost brother.

Bill, like his father, had developed a shorter temper. He used to be so calm and patient with his friends. Now, he was quick to snap at them and he more often than not, wore a blank expression or one that hinted at anger. 

His stutter has gotten significantly worse. Maggie is patient with the boy whenever she asks him something or attempts to get him to talk-- which is like pulling teeth these days-- and it takes him an extremely long time to get a sentence out. It’s as if there is so much sadness and pain backed up in his brain that the areas responsible for speech have shrunk to absolutely nothing and do not permit him from getting a word out in a single attempt. She knows this has to be infuriating for him. He always got flustered and his ever present anger just grew as words twisted around his tongue. 

Bill had lost a significant amount of weight and it was only emphasized with the growth spurt currently hitting him. All the other boys were softer and their bodies were padding themselves with extra fat before they were hit with their largest growth spurt that would stretch them into skinny teenagers. Bill did not have this extra weight to make his growth healthy. He was dreadfully bony and this was only emphasized as his body stretched itself out. Maggie noticed that she could easily count all of his ribs when he slept over at their house back in June and he had elected to sleep shirtless on their living room floor with Richie and Stan. It pained her to see him in such a frail state. She made sure to pile extra food on his plate whenever he came over and always offered him second helpings. Maggie knew this weight loss was a result of Zack and Sharon being too depressed and overcome with their own feelings to cook a meal for their son. He was stuck snacking on whatever was around and plus he himself was not as keen on eating as most teenagers should be as he was also suffering from everything that was happening to him and his family. 

It was heart wrenching to witness the deterioration of the Denbrough family. It made the idea of losing her own son that much more awful. She was terrified of allowing Richie out of the house but she knew she could not deny him from doing so. Not even Sonia Kaspbrak had succumbed to imprisoning Eddie in their home. Maggie was certain the cruel woman had considered it. She could only hope it would not come to that point because no child should be kept inside their entire summer… no matter how bad the world around them seemed. Maggie ensured to enforce safety precautions which irritated Richie to no end but she simply allowed him to stomp his feet in irritation and pout petulantly until he complied with her demands. One day he would understand.

She couldn’t lose him. He was the world to her. Maggie loved her son more than he would ever know. She couldn’t fathom the idea of him going missing. She couldn’t fathom the idea of any of his friends going missing either. She loved those kids like they were her own and treated them as such-- even with the seemingly annoying protective nature she had always had but had been forced to enhance in these trying times.

Richie’s friends. _That_ was one positive thing that had come from this summer. Richie only had three friends for the first thirteen years of his life. It was difficult for Richie to make friends. It always had been. Contrary to what Richie put forth, he was extremely sensitive. Easily the most sensitive out of his friends now and when he only had three friends. He was significantly less likely to express emotion now that he was older and more aware of what was deemed socially acceptable-- but Maggie could read him with ease. This sensitivity made him somewhat hesitant to reach out to new people, especially after being shot down so many times.

Richie often rubbed people the wrong way. He did not make the best first impression and not many narrow minded people were willing to look past their initial impressions of her son. They simply saw an obnoxious and goofy kid with a propensity for inappropriate jokes that she and Went continuously scolded him for. The jokes were a mask and she knew that but most simply saw it as something that made him not worth getting to know. If people took the time to get to know Richie, and up until now, only three people had, they would see that he was incredibly loving, sweet, and loyal. 

Until recently, he was typically dismissed as a nuisance and regarded as such. By the end of June, Richie had managed to make three new friends. She had met these kids in a rather interesting circumstance but she adored them all immediately and felt her instincts go into overdrive in ensuring that they each felt loved where she could see they may not in their own families. 

She met the new additions when Richie brought them all over to their house after some incident that he refused to disclose. All Maggie knew was that her son had a nasty bruise over his eyebrow and the rest of them had rather disheveled appearances suggesting that they’d been at the Barrens which Maggie did not particularly like but as long as he was with his friends, Maggie felt slightly better. None of the missing children had vanished whilst accompanied by other people, and now Richie had six other people to pair himself with whenever he wanted to leave the house. 

“What the hell happened to your face?” Maggie asked, unintentionally disregarding the other children behind him. She grabbed Richie by the cheeks which elicited a rather indignant squawk on his end and caused the other six kids to erupt into laughter. 

“Paws off, ma!” Richie snarks in what she assumed to be an attempt at a New York accent. He’s gotten slightly better at voices but he is nowhere near his dad’s skill set yet. 

“What did you all d-- oh hello.” Maggie greets, stunned by the three new faces. She has seen them around before, but never would have foreseen Richie to have invited anyone beyond Stan, Eddie, and Bill to their house. “What did _all_ of you do?” They’re all rather dirty and sporting their own bruises.

“We were just running around mom.” He all but whines. “We’re fine.”

“Alright.” She sighs before turning to the three new faces. “Hi, I’m Richie’s mom.”

The red-head she recognizes to be Beverly Marsh smiles at her. “Hi Mrs. Tozier. I’m Beverly. But you can just call me Bev.”

“I’m Mike.” The tallest of the bunch says. He is rather scraped up but can see the shean of neosporin on the injuries that are not covered by bandages and knows that Dr. K must have taken care of the boy. She had recognized him from the fair and she was reminded of Richie and Eddie bonding over baby goats with the boy.

“I’m Ben.” A soft voice says. He has a round and gentle face and does not think she’s ever really seen this boy around but she sensed that he was sweet. 

“It’s good to meet all of you.” Maggie had told them, smiling. “Now I’m assuming you brought them here not for my company but for my food?”

“Maybe?” Richie inadvertently giggled at that and she gave him a half hug which he quickly pulled out of-- typical teenager-- and went off to bring the group something to eat. She could not help herself but elected to listen in on them while they talked about a clubhouse, a rock war, and something about kicking Henry Bower’s ass. _That_ she was happy to hear. That kid was something else and he only grew scarier with each passing year. 

When she returned with a plate of snacks, they had thrown themselves around her living room. They were all laughing and teasing one another. Maggie always thought Richie, Bill, Stan, and Eddie were a complete group. However, based on the sight before her, it was evident that they had been missing a few pieces and these three fit in perfectly and created a solid group that ended up inhabiting her house for most of the summer.

Since that day, Richie always pops into the house for lunch with at least one of the new members of the group and one of his original buddies. Maggie has found herself getting to know them better and has managed to shape her interactions with them in ways to fit their specific needs.

Mike was still just as sweet as he had been the night Maggie met him. They had not talked much that night seeing as he was working and more focused on ensuring that Richie and Eddie were careful around his animals. He was extremely mature-- too mature for a boy his age. Maggie understood why seeing as he had been through a great deal with his parents and having to maintain a significantly high level of responsibility by helping to maintain a farm. Maggie and Went liked to tease him playfully whenever they saw him. He deserved to laugh and feel a little silly. He didn’t need to feel like he had to be an adult just yet. He needed to be a kid and Maggie made sure that their home was a place where he could be just that. 

Ben was clearly insecure and self-doubting. Maggie was always sure to strike up a conversation with him when she learned that he was, as Richie called him, a “history nerd.” She was curious as to what he found fascinating and he seemed surprised that someone was interested in what he had to say. He also let slip that he had a passion for building and architecture. Maggie encouraged him to speak more of it and he excitedly told her about the magnificent designs of various historical landmarks. He was remarkably bright and humble. He was unbelievably kind and had a heart like no other. Maggie could see the eyes of longing whenever Bev was with him and Richie and knew he was too shy to approach her with the feelings she believed to be obvious. She wished that Bev could see the way this boy looked at her.

Bev deserved to know that people admired her and not everyone believed the nasty rumors spread about her. Many parents had uttered vile things about this girl, disregarding the fact that she was just thirteen. Bev was clearly troubled and that made Maggie pull her in close. She was not one to trust and tended to carry herself as if someone was about to hurt her. Maggie had a feeling things were not so great when it came to her relationship with her father. Bev had mentioned him once, froze, and never brought him up again. That was enough for Maggie to determine she was subject to a less than satisfactory home life and needed to find solace in the Tozier home. She made sure to let the girl know that she was always safe here and welcome to stay whenever. She and Richie got along extremely well and were quick to make fun of one another. Maggie could see that relationship budding into something special. She sensed a hint of jealousy from Ben and Bill anytime Richie threw himself over Bev’s lap whenever he had something to tell her or was being overly dramatic about something which he often was; but if they weren’t so caught up in their own feelings, they might detect that they literally had _nothing_ to worry about when it came to Richie. 

Maggie sensed jealousy from Eddie as well but he didn’t look at Bev the same way that Ben and Bill appeared to. Thirteen-year-olds, as Maggie has learned, are colosally dense. Since making new friends, Richie exuded a level of self-confidence that Maggie had not seen in him before. He felt more secure in himself and despite the horrors going on around them, he seemed happier than ever.

She knew Richie was safe and happy around the friends he elected to surround himself with. This summer was one that was truly frightening. There was rarely any decent news to come forward. Everyday was just another missing face on a poster or in the paper. But with the happiness and relationships her son was developing, she felt that some good could come out of the summer. Unfortunately such an idea was thwarted mid-July when an angry Sonia Kaspbrak called her. 

Richie had gone off, as usual, to hang out with his group of friends. He had had a sleepover with Eddie Kaspbrak the night before (after an hour of begging his mother) and afterward, the boys biked off to do something with their little group. Maggie felt a sense of ease whenever he left the house anymore since he was always accompanied by someone she knew to be a trustworthy friend. They said they were going to hang out at Bill’s and probably bike around Derry and potentially see a movie. With that information, she gave Richie enough money to cover himself and Eddie. She didn’t want to give them a reason to swing by the Kaspbrak residence and be told that Eddie could no longer be outside because she saw a mosquito and was fearful that he was going to get malaria or something. 

She bid them farewell and told him to check in at least once and to call it a night no later than the seven o’clock curfew. Richie begrudgingly obliged and left. He did meet his end of the deal by calling from Bill’s house once and agreed to see her later that night. He did sound slightly nervous, but she merely attributed that to the fact that he was calling her as opposed to swinging by the house as he had initially promised. It wasn’t a big deal. 

Maggie was off of work that day and decided to use this opportunity to catch up on laundry. Richie, being reckless and constantly riding around the neighborhood, went through clothes extremely fast. Anytime he did his promised check-ins, he was always covered in dirt and sweat and she always made him change out of whatever he was wearing and had him go and put on one of the heinous button-downs he wore more often than not. Given that he had so many wardrobe changes everyday, it was easy for laundry to pile up and for her to fall behind. Today was rather humid and she had no desire to run any errands she had initially planned so she made herself comfortable in the A/C and brought up a basket of laundry that desperately needed folded. It had been sitting for longer than she liked to admit if the wrinkles that had settled into the fabric was anything to go by. Most of the clothes were Richie’s and she knew he could care less if his shirts were freshly pressed or a wrinkly mess. She was in the middle of folding his shorts, when the phone broke the blissful silence.

She removed herself from the couch and set the phone in between her ear and shoulder. “Hello? This is Maggie Tozier speaking.”

Just as she answered she heard the door open and then slammed shut with an aggression she would not expect from the only culprit it could be at this time of day. She was about to call her son into the kitchen when she was meant with a venomous tone.

“ _Your_ son got my Eddie hurt today, Margaret.” Sonia growled. “Do you know where I am right now? I’m in the emergency room waiting for my Eddie.” Maggie wants to say that Eddie is always there because she’s deranged and forces him to go if he has a hangnail. “He broke my son’s arm!”

“Sonia, Richie would never--”

“NO, MARGARET. Your boy and all those little rats snuck into that druggie house and got my Eddie hurt and then your idiot boy tried to set it and just made it even worse. Do you even _know_ who your boy is hanging around? Of course you don’t. You’re a drunk.”

“Me drinking wine on occasion makes me a drunk?” 

Sonia ignores this. “Our boys have been around that slut of a girl, that black boy with the druggie parents that burned up, and some socially inept fat kid.” and boy is that rich for Sonia of all people to say. 

“They’re nice kids, Sonia.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Actually I can. You don’t care what your queer boy does.”

“Sonia, I swear to--”

“Eddie is done.”

“Excuse me?”

“Eddie is _done.”_ Sonia hisses. “He is done with all those kids and _your_ boy. My son is fragile and you allow your son to throw him around like some toy and now he’s hurt. It’s _his_ fault. He always encourages him to do this kind of shit when Eddie is _delicate._ He’s DONE.” and with that Sonia hangs up on her, leaving Maggie shocked.

Maggie knows none of this is Richie’s fault and that there is more to the story. She just needs to know what. 

“Richie?” Maggie calls.

“WHAT?” He screeches from his room and that has Maggie taken aback.

“Richard Tozier, please come here.”

Richie storms out of his room and Maggie can tell he’s made a rather pathetic attempt in concealing the fact that he’s been crying. Maggie notices that his lip is swollen and there is a bruise forming around his mouth from what could only have come from a punch to the face. 

“What?!”

“Come here.”

He storms down the stairs, shoulders shaking.

“What happened with Eddie?”

“He broke his arm because fucking Bill thinks his dead brother is alive and dragged us into this stupid fucking house and nearly got Eddie killed!” Richie pants out. He starts rubbing furiously at his face and Maggie moves to touch him and he immediately steps back. 

“Alright. What did you do?”

“What do you mean!? It was Bill’s fault!” He grabs at his hair, breathing heavily. “I tried to set it like I know you should but I fucking hurt him and and his mom screamed at all of us and now he probably hates me.”

“Okay, I don’t thin--”

“It doesn’t matter what you think. I can’t see him again and now I have no fucking friends.” 

“Richie, you need to calm down.” Maggie soothes. “What happened to your face?”

“Bill punched me.” He growls. “He’s such a prick.”

“Don’t say that. He’s one of your best fr--”

“Not anymore! He punched me and wants me to go back in there and get killed.”

“Why did he punch you?”

“I told him he was being an asshole and that his brother was dead.”

“ _Richie!”_ Maggie scolds, “You know how much he is hurting. You can’t say that.”

“He wants me to go back in there! I don’t want to die too, mom!” His jaw is quivering slightly and he bites his lip to stop crying only to wince as the welt is irritated by his teeth. “I don’t want to die. He was being a dick.”

“I think you need to talk to h--”

“No. I’m not going to. Not now.”

“Okay you don’t have to. Lets just calm down, okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“No. No you’re not.” Maggie says.

“Am I going to go missing, mom?” Richie suddenly asks timidly. Maggie sees a fear in his blue eyes that she doesn’t think she has ever seen. 

“What?”

“I-I don’t want to go missing mom. I’m scared.”

“Oh honey.” She wraps an arm around him and he attempts to fight it but she will not allow him. “You’re going to be okay.” She says with a certainty that she did not know she had in regards to this. She’s been scared of losing him for so long and is surprised in her own bravery. “I will always keep you safe. I will never let anyone ever get to you, okay?”

“Okay.” He mumbles, sniffling slightly. He is quick to rub his eyes, not wanting to cry in front of his mother. 

“Get changed and then come back here and we can watch a movie.”

“The Outsiders?” He asks. It’s one of his favorites.

“Anything you want.” She responds, kissing his forehead. 

“Thank you, mom.” 

He walks upstairs and she turns to pack some ice into a bag and rolls it into one of their softer kitchen towels. She gets the movie set up and settles herself on the couch.

Richie returns wearing a pair of sweats that are steadily becoming high-waters and a shirt that is way too big on him. Richie lacks a sense of how big he is and often assumes his growth spurt has him as large as a linebacker and since she lets him dictate his wardrobe now, he always buys things way too big which only serves to emphasize his skinny frame. He looks ridiculous to most, but endearing to her. 

She waves him over and he sits on the opposite end of the couch and accepts the ice with gratitude. 

“Should help with the swelling.” She informs him with a soft smile. “Looks like Big Bill packs a punch, huh? Did you hit him?”

“No. ‘m a lover, not a fighter.” 

She laughs at this, pulling him to her side despite his attempt at arching his body away. She is not having any of this ‘ _I’m too cool for my parents and therefore don’t need affection when I’m sad’_ bullshit. “That you are, baby. Never change.”

“Even if it means getting my ass kicked?”

“Just use that mouth of yours.” she teases, pulling her fingers through his grimy hair. He’s going to have to learn how to take better showers before the smellier parts of puberty kick in.

He giggles at this and the tension he was clearly holding in himself melts away and he allows himself to be comfortable in her side. He keeps the ice pressed against his mouth and fixes his attention on the movie. 

“You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.” She tells him as his eyes are starting to get heavy behind his glasses. She knows today has been incredibly hard. He was yelled at by Eddie’s mom. He got hit by one of his friends. He is convinced he no longer _has_ friends. She knows that’s the farthest thing from the truth but he is sensitive and always convinces himself of the worst. She knows things will get better. She doesn’t know how and she herself is scared of everything around them but right now she has to be brave for him and help him see that he will see Eddie again, that he and Bill will be okay, and that regardless of what happens, he has not only his friends but his family-- something most of his friends cannot say.

He doesn’t even stay awake long enough to hear Johnny tell Ponyboy to “stay gold.” She hopes Richie never loses what makes him gold especially after the trials this summer is set on putting him through. Maggie knows this summer isn’t finished with her son yet and she can only hope that she can support him through whatever is to come next.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious Note Not Expected By The Most Immature Person On This Site: Be kind to your high school and college seniors right now. I don't graduate from college until fall 2020 but I'm just devastated because I'm missing all the cool spring stuff my school does every single year that I missed in previous years for uncontrollable circumstances. I also feel so incredibly bad for my graduating friends because none of us got to say final goodbyes.
> 
> Additionally, for my high school seniors, I am so sorry that you're missing the last moments of being under the safety net that precedes adulthood and missing out on your last official memories as a legal child. I understand why and so many adults, specifically boomers are minimizing the feelings about this. We get that this is not nearly as important as what is happening but the hurt others are experiencing is valid. Having expectations for over four years of what your senior year is going to be like, especially after paying over 100k and having it taken away? It absolutely sucks and it hurts like a motherfucker. 
> 
> Stop belittling those and regarding them as selfish because they miss their friends and are missing out on major milestones. Most adults fall into this group. You fucking lived in the 80s and got to party your days away with your friends, run around freely, and see everyone you loved. I cannot imagine the lives of those who endure self isolation daily due to compromised immunity and this quarantine is their NORMAL. I have newfound respect for you and it's only been a week for me and most people.
> 
> Don't be selfish in terms of disregarding the measures being implemented. They are not only for your safety but the safety of others. It's hard. I get it. This is a legitimate issue and in order to return to normalcy we must respect the action being taken. Stop fucking going to beaches or to your friends. Stay inside. Wash your hands. FaceTime. I know it's hard to be home sometimes, especially if you come from a toxic household. TRUST ME I GET IT. It fucking sucks to be where you know you're not wanted or accepted. It really does and I'm sorry. But for now, just try to accept it because the quicker we accept these limitations, the quicker it'll all be over and we can return to our normal everyday lives. 
> 
> These are rough times. Please be kind to those struggling. It all really sucks. If ya need a virtual friend, I got you. we are the friend. accept it u lil shit. All my friends are scattered and my parents took my car keys from me even though I am 21 and paid for it. whack. We all gotta support one another right now. People are sick. People are out of jobs. People can't get essentials. People are going through a lot. It sucks massive dick. Be kind to everyone around you, please. It's hard. Tensions are high. We all gonna get through this. Until then, try to make this experience bearable. 
> 
> I know I'm being a loser and corny but here's what I've found to be helpful right now in between my online classes:  
> -Take a bath! You're probably at home and in stale air. This will feel so nice  
> -Play the sims! It's heavily discounted right now! I made a Reddie College save and it's been entertaining. Also, download some cool Mods like Basemental Drugs if you want to get absofuckinlutely hammered on the sims!  
> -Writing... start working on this dystopian novel based on your experience  
> -Read some fic of course! I just finished "At Fault" and it was phenomenal. TW for abuse!  
> -Doodling... draw reddie fan art and make an instagram for me to follow lmao  
> -TikTok (I made my dog renegade, he was not happy)  
> -Compilations on youtube: Vine and TikTok alike... RE TRASH!  
> -GO FOR A WALK while that's still allowed; you underestimate how little sunlight you're getting when you're not going to class, work, etc.  
> -Watch a new show! I Am Not Okay With This was so good but I feel weird seeing wyatt drive bc he seems so young to me? am i old?  
> -REMEMBER TO TAKE YA MEDS. IT'S EASY TO FORGET WHEN YOU DONT HAVE A ROUTINE ANYMORE. 
> 
> Idk if any of that is helpful or I sound like a pathetic self-help 2013 tumblr post written by someone who has never had genuine depression. im establishing ethos here if you're thinking that: im a depressed fuck not that we're surprised and a lot of this has helped. 
> 
> Be kind. Have empathy. Stay healthy
> 
> :) 
> 
> richie had to cancel all his future shows. he cried. he's been tweeting his fans well wishes. he wants to visit a fan that tested positive. eddie told him it wasn't safe but they facetimed them. eddie sanitized the whole house. he kicked richie for sneezing. they snuggled in blankets that reek of bleach. :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: SEVERE internalized homophobia that will not be resolved until our boy is 40 oooof. sorry. 
> 
> So, I don't know how the order of these two events were supposed to happen to be honest. I know in the film they showed the scene (SPOILER FOR THIS CHAPTER) of Paul Bunyan being a homophobic statue bitch first and then followed up with Stan's bar mitzvah when Richie was all like fuck i got dates in reno man (when he really should just be focusing on having a date with Eddie... im sorry im lame). Idk. I'm doing it that way because we gotta end on a slightly positive note before PETTYwise continues being a dick in the next chapter. 
> 
> I don't think I executed this as well as I'd hoped to but we gotta deal, I guess? Oof. I busted this out really fast because I was excited to do it because it's a vital part of the dynamic between Maggie and Richie and Richie's overall character development through Maggie's eyes in regards to the rest of this fic. I'm sorry if it ends up being meh.

Maggie always suspected that her son was gay and after the summer of ‘89, she knew it.

**July 1989**

Richie became somewhat of a hermit ever since he had his fight with Bill and was informed that he could no longer see Eddie. He spent his days raiding their cabinets for sugary snacks, watching movies that he’d seen countless times, and blasting music from his bedroom. Most of the songs he played were sad and only exaggerated the teenage angst he seemed to be indulging in with fervor. He no longer wore his obnoxiously patterned button-downs and only changed out of his pajamas into a different pair of pajamas when he became slightly too sweaty or after he was forced to take a shower by Maggie or Went. 

Richie expressed zero desire to leave the house as he did not want to go out with any of his “ex friends” as he had resorted to calling them and he knew his parents were not exactly keen on allowing him to leave the house by himself. Maggie had scolded him for this multiple times seeing as not all of them had nailed him in the face or supposedly almost got him killed, and even if they had, Maggie knew Richie still cared deeply about all of them. Richie cared about everyone that he got remotely close to and he wore his heart, not on his sleeve, not on his shoulder, but clearly written upon his wildly expressive face that could not hide emotion no matter what he did.

Anytime Maggie or Went dropped one of their names, Richie’s jaw would loosen into a half-frown before he poorly masked it with an angry facade, insisting that he didn’t need any of them. Clearly he did if the pathetic state he had been in the last several days was anything to go by. 

Children should not spend their summers inside and Maggie hated seeing her son hole himself up in the house as he had. She suggested that she could talk to Bill’s mom about the situation and perhaps set up a meeting in order to mediate whatever tension existed between Bill and Richie. Richie had been mortified at the suggestion and threatened to cut the cords off all the phones and then open up the pool just so he could hide them in there. So, that was out of the question seeing as it would humiliate Richie beyond belief and although that was something she did enjoy doing on occasion by pinching his cheeks in public or kissing his forehead in front of his (ex) friends, she decided that setting up an awkward therapy session was not ideal at the moment. 

Maggie and Went both made a variety of attempts at getting Richie to do something with one of his friends even if they were supposedly split up at the moment. Maggie suggested sleepovers with everyone except Bill and Eddie seeing as the two of them were each out of the question for different, but obvious reasons. She attempted to drag him along on her errands-- also because she was nervous about him staying home alone as the number of missing kids continued to spiral upward-- but he refused to change out of his mismatched pajamas. Went even tried getting him to go to the Derry Canal Days to ride some rides and play games but Richie insisted that he was content rotting away in their house. 

Finally, at her wits end, Maggie decided he didn’t need to have some sort of company or supervision to go outside. The idea was petrifying to her seeing as every missing child disappeared whilst out on their own. He couldn’t stay home being mopey and depressed his whole summer though. That wasn’t good for anyone and maybe he would run into those “ex” friends and be forced to strike up some conversation. So, one evening while Richie was draped across the couch, wearing pajamas he’d had on for nearly three days, and smelling rather sour, she dropped an envelope on his chest.

“What the shit is this?” He asked, opening it and finding several twenties secured with a paperclip. “Oh, wow. Who died?”

“No one died, Richie. Watch your mouth.” Maggie scolds, elbowing his legs as a way of instructing him to move his gangly limbs so she has room to sit. “You were owed money for your grades last semester and I figured it was time to give it to you now.”

“This is rather delayed. I think I’m owed interest.” 

“Your interest is me telling you that you can go out of the house without me or your father, as long as you continue to call the office when we’re at work or come home to check in with me.”

“Wait, seriously? Did you finally stop reading the Sonia Guidebook to Parenting?”

“I’m not even going to bother explaining to you how lucky you are in comparison to Eddie but what I will say is I want you to stay downtown where there’s people around.”

“People won’t stop It.” He grumbles.

“Stop what?” 

“Nothing.” He says too quickly. “Uh, thanks mom.”

“Of course. I can’t have you being a lump all summer.” She pinches his cheek. “Now, please, for the love of God, take a shower.”

xXx

Removing the previous restrictions proves to be extremely successful in getting Richie out of the house. Sure, he’s still spending most of his time in front of a screen in the form of the various arcade games at The Aladdin, but it’s better than having him isolated and staring mindlessly at a movie he can quote with ease. Maggie is riddled with anxiety each day he leaves on his own but he’s been on top of checking in and calling the office at the same time everyday. Plus, Richie informed her that he’d made a friend whilst spending his days mastering Street Fighter.

Richie didn’t give too many details on him but apparently his name was Connor and he was staying with family members at the moment. 

“Yeah, he’s real cool!” Richie told her and Went when he was in for the night over dinner.

“That’s good. Where’s he from?” Went asks, refilling his water.

“I think he said Connecticut.” Richie tells them before stuffing his mouth with mashed potatoes that he literally coated in an obscene amount of pepper. Maggie could barely even see any white underneath the dark sprinkles and she did not understand how her boy did not fall into a fit of sneezes whenever he decided something on his plate needed to be _doused_ in pepper. 

“How long is he staying in Derry?” Maggie questions as she scrunches her nose at her son’s peculiar dietary habits.

“I think all summer. He said his parents are moving to California and there’s just a lot that has to get done and they thought it would be easier if he just stayed with his uncle.”

“Who’s his uncle?” Maggie wonders aloud seeing as everyone knows everyone in a town as small as Derry.

“He didn’t say.” Richie shrugs. 

“That’s fine. Definitely try to stay in touch with him. You seem like you like him a lot.”

Richie nods excitedly. “We’re gonna meet again tomorrow and we might go to Canal Days if that’s okay?” 

“I don’t see why not. Have you already blown through that money with that game of yours?” 

“No.” Richie snorts. “It’s not that expensive and Connor paid for me a few times.”

“He sounds like a really nice boy.” Maggie smiles as she sees a familiar light in her son’s eyes.

“He is! He’s really funny too and he has really soft hai--” Richie starts choking on his words and falls into a fit of violent coughs.

Went leans over and starts slapping him on the back, forcing a glass of water into his hand as opposed to the fizzy pop he is insistent on having with each meal. Richie gratefully accepts it, sipping it in small increments until he’s able to catch his breath. 

“Don’t swallow your tongue, there.” Went teases. 

“You okay?” Maggie asks, shooting a slight glare at Went who simply kisses her on the cheek as apology for making jokes at their son’s expense. 

“Y-yeah.” Richie’s face is bright red and Maggie knows it’s not solely due to the coughing fit. “Just started talking too fast before swallowing.”

“You were saying?” Went presses.

“He’s just cool.” Richie mumbles, sinking into his seat, no longer interested in his food. 

“Well we’re glad that you have a new friend, baby.” Maggie says, offering a supportive smile. 

xXx

Richie continues to spend time outside of the house and with Connor and appears to be relatively happy. Maggie knows he’s still distraught about his inability to be with those he regards as his bestest friends-- even Bill who he still appears to be mad at and the three that have _just_ become a part of his life. He is most upset, however, about the fact that Sonia Kaspbrak has forbidden her son from leaving his house and has him under a strict quarantine. Richie, once attempted to call the Kaspbrak residence when Connor ended up leaving The Aladdin early, and was met with the screaming voice of his mother who reminded him that Eddie was never to see him again. Richie, although he would not admit it, ended up in tears not because of her yelling but because of the idea of not seeing Eddie again became increasingly more realistic. 

Sure, there was no way for Sonia to afford to send Eddie off into the private schools nor could she homeschool him since she lacked the credentials (which she attempted to fight every single year), which meant that Richie would see Eddie in September once school rolled back around-- but that wasn’t enough. If Sonia continued her tyranny, there would be no way Richie could see him beyond school hours and that was something that would truly crush him if this isolation from his favorite person were to continue. Maggie had no say in the matter and she wished that there was a way to blackmail Sonia with the information she had over her head in regards to Eddie’s nonexistent conditions.

Despite this, Richie did appear to be having a relatively decent summer all things considered. It was easy to forget that he was not with the people he loved most when he clearly had a liking for the Connor boy. Went had scoffed when Maggie brought it up, insisting that his son would always have eyes for one specific person. She knew that was most likely the case but Richie deserved to fill his fanny-pack-less void with a boy that shared the same passion for mind-numbing video games and seemed to be making him happy in this hellscape of a summer. 

Plus, Maggie, despite her speculations which was backed up by a lot of evidence, did not want to make any solid assumptions about who her son “had eyes for.” It wasn’t her place and she would prefer her son to solidify her beliefs with his own confirmations before she took it as a cold-hard fact. It wasn’t a big deal to her, no. However, they were in Derry. Insinuating such qualities about her son in a community of bigots did nothing but bring out the worst qualities of the individuals in this town. She felt like she knew where Richie’s heart lay but she could not confirm it until he came forward.

Unfortunately, he would not come forward but when he fell into her arms sobbing one day, uttering various apologies, she knew it was fact and a fact that he was wrongly convinced that he needed to be ashamed of. 

Richie had left the house earlier that morning on his bike to meet up with Connor. The two boys had decided to race their bikes downtown in order to annoy some of the older folk and then elected to get lunch at their own respectful homes. Richie swung by the house, enjoyed a simple BLT with his mother, and then was off to play several games of Street Fighter with the boy. Maggie did not expect him to be home till later that evening when she and Went were getting dinner ready, but he ended up coming home just two hours after he’d left for the second time.

Maggie was in the middle of going through some of the Kodaks she had had developed, smiling sadly at the pictures she’d taken of Richie and his friends prior to their falling out. As she came across a rather adorable photo of Richie hugging Eddie’s head to his chest during a sleepover, the door swung open and was slammed shut by her son. She opened her mouth to greet him but he didn’t even acknowledge her before sprinting up the stairs to his room. It was all too similar to the day he’d gotten in a fight with his friends. She felt her heart sink and could only imagine what he’d been through _this_ time.

Maggie sighs, and sets the stack of photos down on the coffee table. She proceeds to walk up the stairs and approaches the door where she hears muffled sobs.

“Richie?” She says gently. He doesn’t respond. He simply continues to muffle his cries with what she assumes to be a pillow. “Honey, I’m coming in, okay?” and with that, she opens the door, surprised that he’s left it unlocked. 

Richie is curled up on top of his bed, clutching his pillow so tightly that his knuckles are white and his veins are starting to pop against his pasty arms. She can spot several scrapes and bruises upon his exposed arms and she can only wonder what he’s gotten himself into this time or what he has been victim to this time. He is trembling violently and has his face buried deeply into his pillow to stifle his cries. Maggie almost fears that he may snap his glasses with the force but decides to disregard it as she approaches his trembling form.

“Richie? Honey, what’s wrong?” She seats herself on the side of his bed, and begins rubbing his back in an attempt to soothe him. He shakes his head against the pillow, starting to choke on sobs. “Baby, please look at me.”

“You won’t w-want to.” He manages to choke out in between sobs. 

“Please, look at me.” She puts her hand on his shoulder and begins to lift him away from his pillow. He attempts to fight it but eventually surrenders and allows himself to face her, his jaw quivering and tears continuing to spill from bloodshot eyes. He is rather unkempt and has a few cuts scattered upon his face and neck. He’s shaking violently and starts to put his hands to his face which she carefully pulls away, not wanting him to feel like he needs to hide.

Immediately, he falls into her, his chest heaving and sobs continuing to wrack his entire body. Maggie finds herself taken aback and is initially uncertain what to do with herself before she welcomes the action and wraps her arms around the hysterical boy. Richie has not cried in front of her in this manner in quite a while. She cannot remember the last time her son wanted to be held by her when he was in such a state. 

“What happened?” She whispers into his ear.

“B-Bowers and Connor… they’re… cousins and they chased me and then…” He cuts himself off, gasping out shuddering sobs. Maggie’s heart drops at the statement. Richie had gotten so close to Connor and had finally started feeling brave up against the Bowers boy especially after having immersed himself with his other friends. It only took one piece of information to have that torn away.

“Richie, sweetie,” Maggie starts in a soft voice.

“I’m sorry, mom. I’m so sorry.” He cries, gripping her shirt tightly. “Please don’t hate me. I’m sorry.”

“Baby, I could never hate you.”

“You should. You should hate me. _I_ hate me.”

“Richie, what’s going on? You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“I’m disgusting. I’m sorry. I can’t be normal. I’m sorry. I try and try and it won’t go away.” He starts choking as sobs get caught against his throat and she pats his back gently.

“Baby, please. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“ _I’m already sick!_ ” He screams, attempting to pull himself away from her, face red and twisted. “Don’t touch me.”

“No.” Maggie deadpans, pulling him back against her where he goes limp and continues crying. Maggie rests her cheek against the top of his head, closing her eyes as her own tears threaten to spill at the sight of Richie in such a state. “You are not sick. You are not disgusting. You are my son and I love you. I will always love you.”

He rubs at his eyes within her hold, raising his head to look at her, sorrow and pain clearly cast upon his features. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be this--”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re my Richie and I will love you no matter what.”

“I love yo-you too.” Richie tells her. He meets eyes that mirror his own with the exception of the swelling and burst vessel. He opens his mouth to speak, stumbling over his words. “I-I’m...mom… mom…I’m” He begins crying again. “I can’t.” He doesn’t have to. Maggie knows. She can say that she knows now. There is no need for speculation. She knows.

“It’s okay. You can tell me when _you’re_ ready. Okay?” He nods quitely, laying his head against her chest. “I will always love you. Nothing is ever going to change that. Don’t you ever forget that. You’re my little boy and I love every little thing about you and everything about you is something you need to love too. Don’t you _ever_ listen to any of the assholes in this piece of shit town. There is nothing wrong with you. You’re you and that’s perfect.” She lays against his headboard, rubbing gentle circles into his back. “You tell me when you want to. There’s no rush. I love you now and I’ll love you then.” 

Richie nods against her and does not loosen his hold on her as she continues a pattern of circles against his back. He occasionally lets out another soft sob and attempts to apologize again which she instantly shushes. He eventually relaxes into her, small, hiccupping sobs melting into weak sniffles which later morph into soft snores. He is limp against her and she feels the hardwood of the headboard digging painfully into her spine. However, Maggie cannot disturb him. She simply accepts this discomfort and continues rubbing his back until she too falls asleep.

Went later finds the two of them, uncertain as to what has led to this. He knows it can’t be anything good seeing as Richie has not fallen asleep in such a state for years and had only done so whenever he was extremely emotional. Regardless, he cannot contain the smile at a sight he has not seen in years.

xXx

After that episode and once Richie and Maggie wake up, the two laugh and Maggie encourages him to go take a hot shower. She presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You’re going to be okay. Get cleaned up and we’ll order in Chinese tonight, alright?”

Richie simply nods, itching at the dried tear tracks upon his soft cheeks.

Maggie remakes his bed, knowing it’ll feel nice for him later tonight. She heads downstairs once she hears the shower running. She places the order of what they usually get and writes down the total in a notepad before going to the living room where Went is currently stretched out across the couch, reading the paper with the reading glasses he has recently been forced to start using. He’s not a fan of them but the moment he complained about getting them, Richie shot him a glare through his own glasses that could kill a man and Went never expressed his disdain for them again.

“I ordered Chinese.” Maggie tells him, moving his paper from his hands so she can lay across his body. 

Went chuckles softly, removing the lenses from his face. “Sounds good to me. So, what happened today?”

Maggie goes silent for a moment, taking a second to make sure that the water from the shower is still running and that Richie is not within ear-shot. Once the coast is clear, she tells him how Richie was in hysterics and everything he had told her in regards to being “disgusting” and how he was apologizing for something he would not admit to. She finds herself choking up slightly as she remembers the torn expression on his face. 

“Did we do something wrong?” Went immediately asks, eyes sad and shoulders slumping. “Does he really think we wouldn’t accept him?”

“I don’t think that’s it.” Maggie reassures, smiling weakly. “I don’t think he’s accepted himself yet. That has to come first.”

Went nods. “Do you think he didn’t know what he was feeling?”

“Probably not. Everyone only talks about heterosexual romance and boys liking girls and girls liking boys. Add that to the fact that half of this town is homophoic and he’s been called slurs since he was a child by that fucking Bowers brat; it’s no wonder he’s so scared.” Maggie pinches her nose tightly, sighing. “I wish I’d done more when that first started.”

“And then have Butch Bowers find a reason to arrest one of us? You can’t do anything against people like that. You just have to accept they’re going to be ignorant for the rest of their pathetic lives and appreciate that one day our son is going to grow up and get out of this place.”

“It’s just frustrating that we’re already dreaming about _leaving_ this place. I really thought we made a good choice living here.” 

Went rubs his thumb affectionately down her cheek, “We did. We’ve met a lot of wonderful people and our son has made some of the best friends anyone could want and sure they’re fighting right now, but he’s thirteen? They’re all emotional and angsty teens. It was bound to happen at least once. I’ve never seen those boys argue a day in my life. He’ll be okay.”

Maggie leans into his touch. “I know. He’s brave and those boys have been through too much to let one fight separate them.” 

“Do you think he might feel more okay with himself once they get back together?”

“I don’t know. It’s not something that I think he can just flip a switch on and decide he’s confident in himself enough to come out not only to us but himself. He couldn’t even say the words.”

“Poor kid. I do think him being with his friends would help especially since that Connor kid ended up being a bust. I didn’t like him anyway.”

“You didn’t like him because he wasn’t Eddie.” 

“Okay, well yeah. But not only is he not Eddie, but he’s a Bowers. No good can come outta that.”

“I don’t know. I think he really liked Richie but he’s in _that_ family… so he’ll probably always have a complex and always feel too scared to be himself if they’re always hovering. I know him bullying Richie isn’t right but I’m not writing him off as a bad kid.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not you big softy.”

“Oh, whatever.” Went scoffs. “Any indication that Richie will actually start talking to his friends again?”

The shower stops and Maggie hesitates before answering in a softer voice. “Andrea called the other day to remind me of Stan’s Bar Mitzvah. I don’t know if he’s still going to go.”

“Might as well ask him.”

Maggie nods, laying her head against his chest. “I will over dinner.”

The doorbell rings not long after she had finally found herself comfortable and Maggie is forced to remove herself from her human-pillow in order to retrieve the feast she has ordered as a way of comforting her son after a day that can only be described as evidence that God has potentially abandoned this timeline. As she begins opening various containers, Richie descends down the stairs with messy hair and oversized pajamas. He’s taken the liberty of bandaging some of the more aggressive cuts, clearing utilizing some of the information a certain hypochondriac has reminded him of countless times. Maggie thinks Richie has probably always known how to mend himself but simply likes it when Dr. K takes care of him.

“Hi.” Richie says softly, voice slightly raspy, no doubt from his body-quaking sobs. “Thank you, mama.”

“Of course, sweetie.” Maggie says, setting down the fried rice so she can walk over to him and plant a soft kiss into his thick mess of poorly-chopped hair. His stupid mop haircut is just another reminder that he is riddled with insecurities caused by Bowers and his stupid band of friends. “Are you feeling any better?”

He nods quietly. “Yeah. I’m just tired.”

“How are you doing, Rich?” Went says cheerfully, masking the fact that he has any idea of what is going on in order to preserve any dignity Richie feels he may lose if anyone is aware of the situation from earlier. 

“I’m good dear, sir.” He attempts in a weak British Man impression.

“Jolly, good. The mumsie has gotten us some supper.” Went teases, triggering a small smile from Richie as they each take their seats and begin piling their own plates with the food in the containers. 

Maggie waits until they’ve fallen into a comfortable silence and have finished a decent amount of the food before them, before addressing the issue of Stan.

“So, Saturday is Stan’s Bar Mitzvah,” she starts, noticing the way Richie freezes slightly. He loses almost all color to his face. “You don’t have to go and you don’t need to make a decision now. I just figured I’d let you know.”

“Does he want me to go?” Richie asks softly.

“I don’t know, baby. Andrea called me to remind me of it but if you don’t want--”

No, I’ll go. I… he wasn’t really mad at me but we just haven’t talked. I promised him I’d go.” He sits up slightly, eyes drawn away from hers. “He’s still my best friend even if I’m not his.” 

xXx

The Toziers go to the synagogue early that day, dressed in some of their best clothing. It’s not appropriate to deem it their Sunday best seeing as Saturday is the day of Jewish worship and the Toziers don’t go to church anyway. Maggie feels a little stuffy in her own outfit and Went picks incessantly at his own cufflinks. Richie’s suit is one his grandmother had bought and was one Maggie always hoped she’d never have to force her son into given the ghastly powder-blue color of it. Unfortunately, Richie’s starting to stretch out and all his other suits either fell ridiculously too short and no amount of slouching on Richie’s end could cover it up. Richie did not seem to mind and almost seemed to like the unsightly color of the suit; which shouldn’t surprise her considering what her son deemed as “fashionable.” That was a stereotype he definitely didn’t fall under, that was for sure. 

Upon entering, he graciously accepted a yarmulke. Apparently it was a sign of respect, and Maggie knew it was meant as a general respect to the faith, but for Richie, it was for Stan even if when Richie walked in, the boys immediately avoided eye contact. There did not appear to be much tension between the boys, but Maggie knew there was a sense of distrust and awkwardness between the two given that this was the longest they’d been separated since they were toddlers. 

Richie nestled himself in between his parents and paid more attention throughout the ceremony than Maggie had ever seen him do before. She could not say she had done the same seeing as she was scanning the audience for any of his other friends. Sadly, it looked as if only Richie had managed to come. 

Maggie refocuses her attention on the boy and he seems rather confident in his speech following the reading. He is an excellent spokesman and despite the serious nature he is meant to maintain, he is capable of intermingling his own personality within his words. He is clearly wise beyond his years and Maggie can feel tears burn her eyes as Stan talks about the transition into manhood and how change can be such a daunting task. She can hear Richie swallow thickly as Stan mentions “secrets we feel like we have to keep. She glances at him and notices that he’s biting his lip. That statement hits him straight between the eyes and Maggie hopes he realizes that the secrets he feels he needs to keep are ones he can one day scream to the heavens. 

“If that’s what today is supposed to be,” Maggie catches how he makes eye contact with her son. “Forget it, right?” 

Stan’s way of reaching out to Richie. Letting him know that anything that may have transpired between him and Bill is not between them and that they’re still friends. They always have been and always will be. Forget what has happened. It doesn’t matter. Or at least, that’s how Maggie takes it.

However, as his speech is meant to conclude, a force of rebellion appears to take over Stan and Maggie sees the anger flash across his father’s face. She knew that the preparation of this had put a strain on Donald and Stan’s relationship but this just made it obvious to everyone watching it unfold. He walks away from his father, not allowing him to cut off the words Stan feels he needs to say.

“I know I’m a loser.” Stan says and Maggie’s heart drops and Richie leans forward, sucking in every word and vibrating with-- excitement? “And no matter what, I always fucking will be.” 

There is a collection of gasps from family and friends alike and Maggie and Went turn to each other, clearly stunned by what they have just witnessed. Richie, however, does not share the same sentiment and begins his own slow clap as Stan storms away. Maggie, noticing the frustration written across Donald’s face, quickly grabs Richie and yanks him down.Richie falls silent, but the smirk that quirks up his lip is still there. Everyone is in a state of confusion as Stan storms out and Richie looks like he’s about to stand again and Went grabs him by his arm.

“Wait.” Richie whispers to the both of them. “Let me just talk to him. Please”

Maggie and Went look at each other. This is the first time Richie will have spoken to any of his friends since the fight. This is the first time Richie has been willing to reach out to one of his friends since the fight. They cannot deny him this even if the circumstances are not exactly optimal or necessarily appropriate. Went sighs, releases his hold and Richie quickly darts out through the same door Stan had walked out of. 

Everyone is in a state of confusion and Maggie sees that Donald is about to follow Richie out the same doors in order to find his son. Went thinks fast and quickly runs to the other man, holding his hands up in surrender. 

“Hi, Donald, yes, it’s been a while.” Went quickly mediates his tension and attempts to distract him from what has just happened. 

Maggie follows close behind and approaches Andrea who is in a state of shock. “Hi Andrea. Great to see you, Stan did wonderful.”

“He… he said… he said...”

“I know what he said. We all do.” Maggie laughs weakly, holding Andrea’s hands in her own. “We can’t change that. He’s… those boys are going through a lot right now and I think all of this preparation was his snapping point. You can’t hold onto this or feel bad about it. He did great. This… that was his way of becoming a man, I think. He… he really has a mind of his own, Andrea.”

Andrea nods silently. “Of all places to…”

“I know. I know. It’ll be okay.”

Andrea swallows thickly. “We’re supposed to celebrate… at the hall across the street.”

“Well, rally everyone up. No need to not engage in any festivities especially in times like these.”

Andrea simply nods, standing herself up, reaching for the mic that Stan had gracelessly dropped. “We… We will be celebrating Stanley across the street in the banquet hall across the street. P-please exit to the left.” Everyone approaches her with a few congratulatory handshakes, although their faces wear ones of shock and proceed to head out. No one, regardless of swearing children, is going to dismiss any offer of food.

Maggie gives Andrea a quick hug, smiling. “Don’t be too hard on him, okay? You’ve raised a good kid.”

Andrea smiles at her. “It’s good to see you again, Maggie.”

“It’s good to see you, too. Our boys, huh?”

“Yeah. They’re… interesting kids”

“I’ll find them. You and Donald worry about the guests, okay?”

“Thank you.” Andrea turns to her husband who is sitting with his head in his hands as Went continues to console him. “We should head over. We can talk more on the way.”

“I’ll come with.” Went offers, patting Donald on the shoulder. 

“That would be great.” Andrea smiles, knowing her husband is going to be near-catatonic for the next hour as the two of them slowly guide him out.

Maggie laughs to herself and heads out the same doors she watched her boys go out of. She walks around aimlessly before finding a door that goes out the side. She opens it quietly, thankful for the minimal squeaking. She finds Richie and Stan sitting on a set of steps, looking outward and laughing like old times.

Richie has his arm around Stan and has clearly gotten Stan relaxed from his previous state.

“I hate to interrupt,” Maggie starts. “But, everyone is heading across the street now for your celebration.”

“I probably ruined that.”

“Nonsense, you gave them all a show.” Richie teases and Stan snorts slightly.

“Tell that to my dad.”

“I sure will!” Richie holds his hand out to Stan in order to help him off the steps. His face falls into one of consternation. “Uh, question before we go over?” 

“What?” Stan asks as the two boys follow close behind Maggie.

“Is this the part where they cut your dick off?”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Stan groans before sighing and in a genuine voice says, “Thank you for coming.”

“Anything for you, Stan the Man.”

Maggie smiles to herself as she leads the two boys out and across the street. They continue laughing and teasing each other as they walk in and for now it feels as if there is some normalcy within Derry. Obviously, this is not the case. If it were, her son would not feel that there were secrets he needed to keep, Stan would not have blown up in front of everyone the way he had, and there would be not two voices, but five other voices joining in on the fun. The good times had been minimal this summer and only served to remind Maggie of what had been lost from this town in the last several months. She knew whatever was troubling this town was not over and would not be for quite a while.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to not disappoint but this one was hella frustrating to write because I kept backtracking and redoing stuff because I bust these out in random sittings of like 2-3 hours because that's the only way I can get something done. If an idea is there we gotta do it now. I had a lot more ideas for this earlier in this story but wasn't going to write it out of order because that's ew. I hope it's still decent though!!!!! roast me. 
> 
> I made Connor seem slightly less bad and gave him some validation and I'm sorry if that's upsetting. What he did was wrong and I think shipping him and Richie is fairly toxic tbh however, I think he came from a place of genuine fear and that he, like Richie, is too scared to be his real self and he especially can't because... uh look at who is cousin is? 
> 
> Also I plan on acknowledging that that scene happened in a PUBLIC place and won't just disappear once the school year rolls around because Richie being a sad fuck is vital to his development lets be real. 
> 
> Also, I hope we all doing well with everything that's happening. I love all ya noodles and am hoping for this social distancing to not be too hard on all of us!
> 
> Eddie is convinced Richie has covid because he has flu-like symptoms because Richie is an idiot and hasn't had a vegetable since 1992. He wants him to be tested but Richie saw a video of some girl with a q-tip stuffed up her nose and refuses. He eventually complies. He just has the flu but Eddie still sprays him with lysol and makes him wear a mask that Richie doodled spaghetti on. Eddie will not kiss him right now. Sad.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. What's up? First things first, I know it probs seems like the whole carving thing in IT CH. 2 probs happened BEFORE the final fight against Pennywise in CH. 1 but do I look like I give a fuck? Well, I do and I'm sorry to be an asshole that refuses to abide by jack shit. I'm what the french call, a fucking asshole. 
> 
> I think this chapter is a little awkward and I made an attempt but I am but a dumbass that has been inside for almost 2 weeks with the exception of running the same path every fuckin day bc gotta stay fit and trips to grocery stores that I don't even like. If I had gone to Target it would be a different story because Target trips are just fun. If you don't like this chapter, just idk, tell me im an 11 year old on wattpad or some shit. 
> 
> 11 is everyone's worst age. Tell me otherwise. 12 gets too much hate. 11 is 100000x worse.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this attempt of intertwining my own bullshit with canon!!!!!

Maggie knew Richie wasn’t completely ready but he was starting to make peace with himself.

**August 1989**

Richie and Stan have truly rejoiced by spending as much time together as possible since their reunion at the Bar Mitzvah. Donald and Andrea had been hellbent on grounding their son after his rather explosive speech, but Maggie managed to talk them out of it. It was exceptionally easy seeing as, much like Richie had been, Stan had isolated himself in the house and rarely left. She knew the boy still received a stern talking to but aside from that, he was free to roam the streets of Derry with Richie. They were back to riding their bikes throughout the town, seeing movies together, and playfully bantering with one another. She could sense the sadness between the two, however. They were best friends, yes, but the two of them had been best friends with two other boys since kindergarten and had been absolutely thrilled at introducing three new faces back in June. They simply did not feel whole. 

Things continued to spiral in Derry. Children continued to disappear. Limbs of some missing children continued to resurface. The more evil qualities in people continued to grow. Tensions were high and it was starting to feel as if nothing was going to feel safe ever again. Maggie would continue to be riddled with night terrors of her son’s face on missing posters or finding his dead body somewhere in a ditch. Nothing disturbed her more than such thoughts, but they plagued her no matter what she tried to distract herself with. There were only so many children that could disappear in Derry and with each new child, it was becoming more likely that her son would become one of those lost kids.

The idea of moving away had become an extremely realistic possibility as things continued to turn for the worst throughout the town. Maggie and Went found themselves exploring potential locations where a practice would thrive as much as the one here had. They jotted a few locations down from the west coast as that was where their interests appeared to sync up. Went started researching qualifications for licensure in dentistry over in the western states--specifically California-- and Maggie began comparing schools that Richie could potentially attend if they were to go through with it. 

It was simply an idea and not one they were committed to but as things continued to worsen, it became one that Maggie was acquainting herself with more and more each day. The west coast seemed as if it might hold better lives for them. It was more accepting and more liberal. Richie had yet to come to terms with himself in regards to his sexuality, out of the fear that was induced upon him by the half-wits that made up a majority of Derry.

Maggie used to enjoy living here. It was a place she had envisioned would inhabit her family long enough for her to meet her grandchildren (if Richie were to deliver such wishes but it was hard to say) or to take her last breath next to her husband. Now, it was a place she deeply regretted more than anything. Derry was safe at one point. It was safe when she had been able to neglect the obvious hatefulness that possessed so many people in the town. This was when she was too infatuated with the idea of raising her newborn son in a small town, where he could ride his bike and spend his teens surrounded by his childhood friends. 

Now, the abysmal qualities of this town were crystal clear. The way people were able to neglect the way  _ children  _ were disappearing and doing the bare minimum to protect their own kids only to wonder a week later why their child had not come home that day. The way people whispered under their breaths about the Hanlon family not only because of the supposed drug problem, but because of the color of their skin. The way people like Henry Bowers spit slurs like it was second nature and drove people, like Richie, to tears. There was no escaping the virus that was hate within this town. It spread and held everyone in its clutches. Those who did not exhibit such cruel tendencies were the ones that became victims to it and that terrified Maggie beyond belief.

She did want to stay here long enough to see her son become a victim. But he could become that anywhere and she knew that… but here, it just felt too real and it was already starting. She still did not know the full details of what had happened to Richie that day at the movie theater, but she knew it was enough to shake him up and enhance his own insecurities. She attempted to comfort him without bringing up the subject directly as to not upset him but she knew. She’d been able to tell since he was young but never wanted to put the word to it. That would be her confirming it for him. She didn’t want to be the one to do that. She always wanted him to be the one to tell her and not take that away from him. It was something that Richie deserved to say for himself; not to show that he trusted his parents, no. But to show that he was okay with himself and that he accepted himself.

Maggie needed to know that her son was comfortable with himself before he could be comfortable enough to tell them. Maggie didn’t need him to tell her what she knew. She’d been pretty certain of this fact since he was small and so clearly infatuated with Eddie. She’d been more than fully aware of her son’s crush on Eddie when they were just kids but he only made it more obvious when he was about eight and curious about why people got married:

They had been in the middle of dinner and Richie had a twisted expression on his face as he helplessly stabbed at his chicken. It was clear something had him rather perplexed.

“Penny for your thoughts, Rich?” Went laughed at his son’s expressive face.

“Why do people get married?” Richie asked, cocking his head slightly.

“Insurance benefits.” Went answers plainly, stuffing some green beans into his mouth. Maggie kicks him playfully under the table to which he gives his usual dramatic reaction. He swallows his food before giving an actual answer that does not leave their son with an even more confused look, “People get married because they love each other and want to spend their whole life together.”

“Do you and mommy want to stay together,  _ forever _ ?” To an eight-year-old such an idea was incredibly daunting, especially since waiting for Christmas to arrive the day after Thanksgiving seemed like a lifetime. 

“I do and I like to think she likes living with me.” 

Richie whips his head to Maggie, suddenly frightened at the prospect of his mother not wanting to live with him and his father anymore.

“Of course! I love your daddy… even when he’s being silly.” Maggie smiles gently. “Why the sudden curiosity?”

“Well Greta Keene said she wanted to marry Eddie tomorrow at recess ‘cause she thinks Eddie is cute. Eddie didn’t say yes yet but I don’t want him to marry her.”

“And why’s that, bud?” Went had smiled knowingly. This was way after the two of them had decided jokes regarding Richie’s future wife were not appropriate for it was becoming obvious where his feelings tended to lie. 

“Well then  _ I _ can’t marry him.” Richie had pouted. “I like him  _ way _ more than stupid Greta and I’ve been his friend since  _ kindergarten.  _ She only knows him ‘cause he goes to her dad’s pharmacy and they got to do indoor recess together when Eddie’s mom said he was sick and Greta didn’t wanna get her new shoes dirty.”

“So, you want to marry Eddie?” Went hides his grin behind his hand as laughter shook his shoulders.

“Well, yeah.” Richie says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world-- which looking back on it, Maggie knew it had been. “If I marry Eddie then his mom can’t tell him no to playing with me no more and we can  _ always _ be together.” 

Her and Went ended up falling into a fit of laughter at his sheer innocence which had only served to annoy him but he ended up not caring much because Eddie did not end up marrying Greta on the playground because he didn’t want to have to kiss her and potentially contract mono or strep or the bubonic plague. Maggie wishes she could return to such times now as her son now kicked himself anytime any such thoughts crossed his mind. 

His liking toward Eddie was something that had been obvious from the day they had met and only grew with age. It was something special and he didn’t quite understand until someone made him feel shame for the feelings he didn’t quite understand. He now knew what those feelings were and what they meant. They were not wrong but he was convinced that they were and that only grew after his recent breakdown. Clearly, whatever had happened that day had truly traumatized Richie. He knew what he felt and he wanted to do anything to repress the shameful thoughts that warped his sense of self.

Maggie had made her own attempts at easing his negative thoughts but nothing proved effective. She did not want to press the subject too much for she knew it made him uncomfortable and he hadn’t come to terms with his own self-acceptance. But, she was at the end of her rope in seeing her son so distraught.

“Richie?” Maggie says while he’s lounging on the couch one Saturday while Stan is unavailable for he is at temple with his family. They do, however, have plans to see a movie together later that evening. 

“Yeah, mom?” Richie says, not taking his attention away from whatever he’s watching on TV.

“I was thinking t--”

“Call the police.” Richie interrupts. “What did I do wrong? I’m sorry. I’ll try better next time. I have learned my lesson.”

“You’re truly your father’s son.”

“I’d hope so. That would be awfully difficult to explain.” He snorts.

“That it would be.” She huffs, plopping herself down in the loveseat and flicking the TV off in order to gain his full, undivided attention. He scowls slightly but does finally appear to be listening to what she has to say. “I think we should get you into therapy.”

“Excuse me?” Richie looks taken aback.

“Therapy, Richie. To help you address your feelings and learn how to cope with them.”

“Mom, I don’t think I need a therapist for that.”

“Sweetie, this whole situation from that day with Henry and Connor is clearly something that bothers you and you need to realize it’s not--”

“Mom, I’m fine. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“You don’t have to, though. You deserve to feel better… and plus they could start helping you with your anxiety.”

“I don’t have anxiety.”

“Okay, so throwing up anytime you get remotely nervous is normal?”

“I do not.”

“How many times did I have to pick you up from school because of you working yourself up so much that you got sick?”

“It’s because I thought of my teacher's naked mom.” Most of his teachers were female so that could be a possibility if his incessant worrying had not been evident since he was a toddler. 

“Richard,”

“Oh, the full name.” He attempts to tease.

“You need help. You deserve help.”

“I’m not crazy, mom.”

“Don’t say that, sweetie.” Maggie scolds. “Stan is in therapy, do you think he’s crazy?”

“No.” He mutters. 

“So, it can’t hurt. I think you sho--”

“I  _ can’t,  _ mom! Stan has something they want to treat. With me, they’re just going to try all that conversion bullshit. They’re going to tell me I’m sick because I’m…” As per usual and why she thinks therapy is a good idea, he is unable to make himself say the word. He shoves his hands under his glasses to dig his palms into his eyes and groans loudly. “Do you want that?” 

“Richie, you know I don’t. I want you to feel okay with yourself. You know that.”

“I know.” He croaks, sniffling which he attempts to mask with a cough. “I just don’t… I don’t want to yet. I’m not there yet and I know you’ll be okay with it and stuff but I’m just not… I can’t. Not yet. I can’t say it and I don’t want to.”

Maggie sighs. “Alright. I won’t make you. The offer is on the table and it’s one I think you should consider if not for this but for other things too.”

“Alright...Thanks, mom.”

xXx

Richie does not accept the offer nor does he show any signs of contemplating it either. Maggie understands the validity of his fears but she cannot help but wish that she could take him somewhere and his self-doubt would be immediately cured and he would feel capable of disregarding the hateful words that lurked in his subconscious and be able to accept himself. Unfortunately, even if he had agreed to therapy, that was not how it would go down and it could take months, even years, to undo the negative self-perception that had been fueled on the daily by bullies and cruel adults. 

He continues to spend his days with Stan, however he exudes a rather uneasy energy and closes himself off. His breakdown had been long overdue and resulted in every emotion he’d withheld, flooding out at once. After that, he was back to bottling everything up and attempting to repress the feelings he knew he had. Alongside those emotions were the ones of hurt that he still clearly felt at the torn friendships. Unlike the rest of his friends, Richie had been subject not to one falling out, but two. He had lost six friends at once, and yes he had Stan back, but there was still a very obvious hole in his life. Then, while recuperating from that sudden loss, he managed to make another friend and that ended with him in hysterics and lonely once more. 

He wouldn’t say it, but Maggie knew that losing Connor as a friend did hurt him even if it ended on an extremely damaging note. Richie didn’t deserve to have gone through so much in such a little time. None of his friends did. She knew he missed them all with every fiber of his being. It was so difficult to find decent people in this town and to formulate a support system and all of that had been shattered after one fight. 

He had Stan. Maggie was thankful for that. However, as August dragged on, that proved to not be enough. They began spreading their days apart and he was back to spending days in the house, alone. She knew it was bound to get awkward between the two of them. They were extremely close, yes. However, their friendship had been one that grew only with the help of Bill and Eddie and those were the two that were totally out of the question in regards to who they could see at the present moment. There was a clear void and it made the two boys feel awkward and lonely even in each other’s presence. 

On days where Stan and him elected not to spend time together, Richie began exhibiting the same hermit-like tendencies. Maggie was not having it. Before work, she dropped yet another envelope of cash on his dresser and ordered him to go outside and do something besides mope around the house.

He did take her up on it and began spending each day that was not with Stan, downtown. He would ride his bike, get ice cream which Maggie knew he missed sharing with his favorite person, and attempt to beat his own high scores on various games at The Aladdin. It wasn’t exactly ideal in her opinion seeing as he was doing all of this alone but anything was better than her coming home to find that he had not moved from their couch all day. 

Or at least she believed this to be true until he did not come home one day.

After one of the quitest sleepovers Richie had ever had with Stan, he ended up spending the next three days on his own and on the third day he sped off on his bike to rot his brain with a few rounds of Street Fighter after having a quick lunch with her. She reminded him to be home by curfew and waved him goodbye as he shoved his feet into a pair of filthy tennis shoes.

Went came home and the two of them began preparing dinner whilst a movie played in the living room, serving as background noise. As she began slicing vegetables the phone started to ring. Maggie grabbed it, leaving Went to take care of seasoning the salmon before taking it outside to be grilled. 

“Hello? This is Maggie speaking.”

“Did  _ you  _ tell him?!” Sonia’s shrill voice screeches through the phone.

“What?” Maggie asks, suddenly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Eddie! Did you tell  _ him?!”  _

“No? I haven’t seen him since you called me last time to scream at me, Sonia.” Maggie huffs bitterly. 

“Well he just screamed at me and ran out of the house to see his friends. Your boy--”

“Has nothing to do with this and neither do I. Maybe your son managed to figure it out on his own and knows information he’s deserved to know.”

“I’ve been  _ protecting  _ h--”

“Goodbye, Sonia.” Maggie hangs up the phone.

“What was that about?” Went laughs, having watched the entire scene unfold.

“Sonia accusing me of Eddie figuring out everything about his medications and then trying to blame Richie for him running off.” Maggie rolls her eyes. “Typical Sonia.”

“She’s a real piece of work.” Went adds. “I can only imagine what that boy is feeling right now.”

“Yeah… poor thing.”

“Well, at least this means he won’t fall for quarantine anymore and be able to come over again.”

“Unless Sonia gets a restraining order put on me or something. Crazy bitch.”

“You said it. Not me.”

“Oh, you’ve said way worse about her.”

“Yeah. I have!” Went beams.

As they finished preparing dinner and curfew rolled around, Richie was still not home. He’d never been late. He knew how distraught his parents felt in regards to the current state Derry was in and he made sure to never push the limits of curfew. He typically came home with a few minutes to spare and never gave them reason to worry beyond the general limit of  _ “yes there’s someone kidnapping and killing children in a gruesome manner all across town.”  _

As the clock strikes seven, Maggie immediately feels her stomach sink in worry and images of Richie dead or on a poster that will be ignored for a new one the following day flashes across her mind. 

“Where is he?” She wonders aloud, her voice quivering. “He’s never late.”

“Maybe he lost track of time.”

“No. Richie has never been late since all of this started. We need to call the police.”

“Honey, no. There is no need for that right now. Let's just wait it out for a bit and then we’ll call his friends, okay?”

Maggie chokes on a sob, bringing her hand to her mouth as she attempts to compose herself. She’s reminded of what Zack told her on a rainy day back in October last fall. “T-That’s what the Denbroughs did and now look at them, Went!”

“Honey. It’s only been a few minutes. It’s okay.” Went attempts to settle her, rubbing his 

Hand between her shoulder blades. “Let's just wait a bit and we will call, I promise.”

Maggie is extremely impatient and finds her entire body vibrating in anticipation as she continues to shift her attention from the clock to the front door where she expects to find a bug-eyed Richie apologizing profusely for being late. Maybe Went is right. Maybe Sonia was right. Maybe the two boys had gotten together after Eddie discovered his placebos and were now catching up downtown… but that seemed too good to be true. 

Almost an hour ticks by and Maggie is absolutely fed up. She runs to the phone as Went attempts to protest and dials the Uris family.

“Andrea? It’s Mag--”

“Oh, Maggie, thank goodness. Have you seen Stan?”

“W-what?” Maggie feels as if a huge weight has been dropped on her shoulders and can physically feel the color leaving her face. Went’s dark eyes widen at her expression and concern distorts his face as he witnesses the panic take over her body. 

“He left earlier today and never came home. Is he with Richie?”

“I-I… Andrea… I was going to ask you if you had seen Richie. He hasn’t been home since lunch.”

“O-Oh…”

“I-I’ll call the Denbroughs and the Hanlons.” Maggie offers, voice unsteady.

“Okay… I’ll try Sonia and the Hanscoms. Marsh… that one's useless.”

“Yeah… don’t bother with h-him. Thank you.” Maggie begins dialing the Denbroughs before Went places a hand on hers.

“What’s going on?”

“Stan left earlier and never came home, Went.” Maggie feels tears begin to spill down her face. 

“Okay, maybe they’re together.”

“Do you really think that?” Maggie asks him. Went silent. She continues making phone calls to other parents in hopes that one of them has seen Richie or Stan and is met with the same worried voice that Andrea had had. All of their kids are also missing and have not returned home. No one has seen her son and no one has seen his friends. They’ve all seemingly vanished.

It’s almost nine o’clock. “I’m calling the police.”

“Maggie… you can’t file a report unless it’s been twenty-four hours.”

“Something is out there killing  _ children.  _ Our son is missing. They better do something about it.” Maggie snaps, feeling slightly guilty as Went shrinks backward. 

“Hello, Derry Police Department, what is your emergency?”

“Hi… My name is Margaret Tozier and my son, Richard Tozier, left today and has not come home. No one has seen him and all of his friends… they never came home either.” 

“Has your son ever indicated that he wanted to run away?” 

“No. Never. He just went out to play a few arcade games and he never came home.” 

“How long has it been since you last saw your son?”

“Uh, he left the house around 12:30 this afternoon.”

“Ma’am, you cannot file a missing person’s report until the person has been missing for at least twenty-four hours.”

“Excuse me, if I may, there have been how many missing children killed this summer? And you want to wait a whole day just so you can say yes he’s missing and never find him or only find his foot or arm or something? No. I want someone to take this seriously for once.”

“Ma’am, please. Call back tomorrow. We are currently in the middle of dealing with the Bowers case.”

“The Bowers case?”

“I saw police cars there earlier.” Went offers, shrugging. 

“I cannot disclose any further information. Please have a safe evening, ma’am and if your son is still missing by tomorrow afternoon, do call back. Thank you.”

“Dammit!” Maggie snaps, slamming the phone back on the base. “I swear everyone is useless in this fucking town.”

“He’ll come home. I know he will.” Went tells her, his voice unsteady and eyes misty. He doesn’t believe his own words. 

xXx

They end up packing up their dinner in tupperware as their appetites collectively vanish as their anxieties grow with each minute that passes without their loudmouth son. The couple sits on the couch, staring hopefully at their front door, waiting to see their son run in, apologizing profusely for being late. Hours tick by with nothing and they end up dozing off whilst staring at the door and both are plagued with vivid nightmares. They dream of their son never coming through those doors again. Maggie gasps herself awake just as she goes to open a coffin where she is certain her son lays. She rubs at her eyes, shifting her body off of Went who twitches sporadically in his sleep. There is a soft morning light cutting through the window and creating a promising glow-- one that feels almost insulting in these circumstances.

Maggie quickly stands up, her lower back and knees cracking slightly. Apparently, sleeping on the couch becomes a bad decision once you leave your twenties. That’s the least of her worries right now.

“Richie!” She calls toward the steps which startles Went awake from whatever nightmare he was caught in. He stands up quickly, wincing as his own body voices its complaints in pops and snaps. 

Maggie bites her lip, hoping to hear her son’s tired voice come from his bedroom, indicating that he slipped in at some point and neglected to inform them that he made it home. They are met with silence. 

“Went… he… he never came home. We have to call back now.” She glances at the clock. It’s just past nine in the morning but there’s no chance in hell she’s waiting any longer.

“Honey, they’re not going to--”

“No! I-I can’t accept this. My son is missing and they’re going to do somet--”

The door opens slowly and she’s met with her son’s sheepish grin. He looks rather disheveled. His shirt is covered in dirt and his shoes are drenched in water that smells absolutely foul. His face is dirty and he is covered in various scuff marks and bruises. 

“Hi…” Richie says. “I’m real--”

Maggie doesn't let him finish speaking and immediately pulls him into her arms, hugging him tightly. She immediately breaks into hysterics, crying as she buries her nose into her son’s hair, which like his shoes, does not smell particularly pleasant. But she could care less. He’s here. He’s alive. He’s not going to end up on a missing poster. He’s not going to be found in a ditch. He’s not going to be another forgotten case. 

“Jesus, Rich.” Went breathes out, wrapping his arms around his wife and his son. 

“I’m sorry. I was with my friends… We… We worked things out. We’re okay again and just ended up staying together all night.” Richie stammers out. “I’m really sorry. I know I should have called you guys and said something… I’m really sorry.”

“It’s… I’m just glad you’re alive.” Maggie tells him, pulling him away, holding his face in his hands. “You’re grounded for a long, long time, but… I’m just… never do that to me again.”

“I understand… and I won’t. I promise.” Richie says, and Maggie knows he means it.

xXx

**September 1989**

Henry Bowers ends up being committed to an institution for the criminally insane after he is found guilty for the murder of his father, his friends, and the children whose bodies were flushed out at the Barrens. He had not tried to plead innocent against any accusations and only mumbled to himself and laughed in a deranged manner throughout his entire court session. Henry being arrested, in Maggie’s opinion, was the best thing to have ever happened to this town. It was absolutely horrific that he had killed his father but Maggie could not say she was particularly sad that the racist father of the criminal boy was dead. 

After his arrest, everything seemed to return to normal. The disappearances stopped. Things felt safe once more. The crushing weight of fear seemed to float away. Sure, Maggie knew things weren’t necessarily perfect in this town. It was a small town full of small town thinking. But she no longer felt her heart race when Richie ran out the door to be with his friends. She had abandoned most of the restrictions she had placed upon him and felt comfortable in allowing him to reign his terror with the friends he was back to spending every waking moment with. Everything felt brighter and alive again.

However, Richie was still caught up in a state of crippling self-doubt in regards to his sexuality. He still refused to accept himself and despite being back with his friends, Maggie could sense the way he felt distrusting around them. He now knew why he felt differently about girls than them. He, unlike most of the boys, was not wildly infatuated with the developing girls of their grade. He didn’t stare at Bev in the same way that Bill and Ben clearly did. He only teased her and allowed her to play with his hair that he was finally starting to grow out. After all, there was no Bowers around to tease him for his more effeminate features that become increasingly more prominent with puberty. He obviously could not come out to them. He hadn’t even come out to her, nor had he really solidified anything with himself.

Maggie was starting to believe that the damage done to him was irreparable and he may be caught in a state of permanently internalizing his feelings and never allowing himself to accept himself. That is, until one day, the weekend before school was to start, Richie approached her in the kitchen.

“Mom?” He said softly. “I was wondering… can I ride my bike for a while? I...I need to clear my head.”

“You know you’re grounded, kiddo.” Went interrupts from the kitchen table where he is attempting to complete the day’s crossword. They were starting to get old, clearly. 

“I know. I just… I really need to do something.”

“Alright.” Maggie complies. She’s far too easily convinced when it comes to her son and she’s more than aware of that.

“Thank you.” He says, running upstairs to grab his shoes and then darts out the door.

“You’d let him get away with murder.” Went informs her before taking a long sip of the second coffee he’s had this morning. 

“So would you.” She teases back.

xXx

Maggie and Went are in the middle of washing dishes when they hear their son come back in. He comes into the kitchen and sets down what she recognizes to be Went’s pocket knife. Maggie sees a few small cuts where he must have accidentally stabbed himself doing whatever he had done with the knife. He is shaking slightly and Maggie is afraid that the peace that has settled over the town has been thwarted by some other force this time. 

Richie takes a deep breath. “Mom, Dad?” They turn around to face their son. “I’m gay.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. That ending was not what I initially planned. I just happened to write it whilst sleep deprived and after sitting and writing this because I bust out mediocre work whenever I'm social distancing and looked at it and said "that is very much adequate." Thought it might be cool. I don't fucking know. 
> 
> I planned on not letting Richie come out to his mom till he was like fuckin 40 but my brain said you know what R+E carving is him announcing to the world that he is OKAY with himself and then he gonna be like you know what, my parents aren't toxic in this story, I'm gonna FUCKIN tell them!!!! If you hate this ending, idk roast me and tell me I'm an unexpected item in bagging area. 
> 
> don't worry. more fucked up shit will happen later to align with CH. 2! :)
> 
> Also, I'm twisting canon heavily in regards to Bev's move because I want her to stay for fun Richie/Bev content because I am tRASH. 
> 
> Social distancing sucks but keep it up. If you're the people going to the beach still and shit, you're an asshole. Stop it. Please. Wash your hands. Don't touch your beautiful face. Be kind to people struggling right now. A lot of people are out of jobs. A lot of people are stuck with toxic families. A lot of people are missing out on major life events or are having procedures postponed. It's hard. Stay inside. Make it so this can end faster. Make the curve flatter than Bill Hader's ass. 
> 
> Richie still has a flu bug. Eddie has forced him to sleep in the guest room. Their house smells of lysol. Eddie discovered two cases in their area. He is about to move to Greenland. Richie is playing Plague in their living room which only serves to piss Eddie off.


	17. Part III: Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG ASS IMPORTANT A/N THAT IM GONNA ALSO FEATURE IN NEXT CHAPTER IF YOU MISS IT: THERE ARE SOME IDEAS AND TOXIC THINKING PATTERNS ON MAGGIE'S PART HERE IN REGARDS TO GIRLS. THEY'RE NOT REFLECTIVE OF MY OPINIONS AT ALL. THEY'RE FAIRLY TYPICAL BELIEFS EVEN FOR THE MOST LIBERAL OF PEOPLE BECAUSE LIBERAL/LEFTIST VIEWS WERE NOT NEARLY AS HUMANISTIC OR ACCEPTING AS THEY ARE NOW. THEY ARE COMPLETLEY BASED ON MY OWN MOM'S WORDS FOR SHE DOES SEE GIRLS AS INHERENTLY MEAN. ADDITIONALLY, OTHER GIRL MENTALITY IS NOT SOMETHING I BELIEVE BC ALL GIRLS ROCK. IT JUST HAPPENED TO FIT IN THIS SECTION AND I DON'T HOLD THOSE BELIEFS BY ANY MEANS KIDDOS. Maggie is still a hella mother, she's just opinionated in the same way most people born in the mid 50s would be (She was born in 54 in the case of this story). She's not a bad human by any means, this is just common thinking patterns for mothers of this time and is something that is still thought today by people more set in their ways. If Maggie Tozier was a mom today you know damn well she would have brought Richie to a woman's march. Just clarifying that thanks to sweetheart, S.T.! Thank you for making it known to me and let it be known that I do not project myself into my characters! Or if I do it's usually just incorporating my own experiences into story aka future chapters with my drunk mistakes. lol ANYWAY, Big thanks to S.T. for pointing this out to me and being a kind, kind soul about it! They're a stellar human! Basically, I don't hold any of the yucky beliefs and think all girls, boys, and non-binary friends are great in all facets of life! :) 
> 
> Out of all the previous Ao3 accounts Ive ever had, this is my first time hitting over 100k words. So I'm kinda excited even if I'm beating myself up a lot over this work. I am a trash can. :)
> 
> This inadvertently became a fairly long-ish chapter. It was kinda taking on the same style and purpose as the one just before CH. 1 events where it's just an abundance of random one-shots/events but I gave it a little more detail and focus because BEV AND RICHIE DESERVE RIGHTS AS FRIENDS.
> 
> I was gonna add more content... but decided hey lets save some for the future... plus I was heading into 8k territory and figured might as well let this be one long chapter and have a few 4-5k ones for later. 
> 
> idk how long she gonna be around because um? who knows? She deserves her boys dammit! I want her in at least a few years of HS with her stupid boys so alas I wrote it to allow it and it probably makes 0 sense and seems unfitting because I made the decision last minute but do I care? yes a lot. I am kicking myself. fuck it. I'm ready for high school content where these idiots become even dumber.
> 
> :)

Maggie knew she officially had a daughter with Bev.

**October 1989**

Maggie never wanted a little girl. When she first realized she was pregnant, she was confident that she was having a boy and dreamt of nothing other than a little boy that liked cars and trucks, running around outside, and making messes. She never envisioned herself with a pig-tailed girl with sparkly barrettes and satin bows, that played with dolls, and painted her face with makeup from the drugstore. She would not have been disappointed had her assumptions been wrong and Richie entered the world as a Sarah or a Rosie--the names Went forced her to put on their list of baby names when he insisted there was a chance they’d have a girl--but it never seemed fitting to her. 

Most might assume a mother dreamt of having a little girl who they could take to the mall and play dress-up with. Not many moms enjoyed the messiness that accompanied boyhood but Maggie always found it fun. She herself had never been a tomboy and had always prided herself in her neat curls and flouncy skirts but as a mother, she wanted nothing to do with that. She loved having her excitable son with a mouth fouler than a sailor’s. He was goofy, clever, and everything that made her life feel complete. 

Girls were mean. Sure, boys could be cruel-- Henry Bowers had been proof of that-- however, the ones that were not clinically psychotic typically stuck to a few right-hooks and shoves before calling it quits. Girls were sly, conniving creatures that would find what made their enemies twitch the most and target that. They didn’t need to resort to something as barbaric and juvenile as fist-fighting in order to bring other girls down. They found ways to chew other girls up and spit them out, leaving their victims with teary eyes and new-found insecurities. They spread rumors and did anything to tear someone apart from the inside out. Not all girls were like that and she knew that but she’d lived long enough to know that even the sweetest girls had a mean streak in them somewhere. 

Went had a period shortly after Richie was born where he wanted a daughter. It wasn’t born out of a sense of unfulfillment or anything like that, but solely because he genuinely missed the fleeting stages of infancy that Richie grew out of too fast for either of their liking. He wasn’t at all disappointed to find that he had a son but Maggie knew the idea of referring to a long-haired, freckled girl as his “little princess” was something he had wanted at that point in their life. He liked the idea of being a protective dad despite being a complete spaghetti noodle that hadn’t lifted anything heavier than their sack of bones son in years. He’d hinted at it once Richie was about two and Maggie had _immediately_ shut that down.

“You know, Richie is getting older and he’s probably a little bit lonely.”

“No? I’m with him all day.” Maggie says, picking up some of the toys her son had left scattered on their floor before she’d put him down for bed. 

“I know that.” He laughed sheepishly. “I mean don’t you think he’d want a siste--”

“Richie weighed almost ten pounds. No.”

“Okay. I see where you’re coming from bu--”

“Richie weighed almost ten pounds.”

“Okay, I get it.”

“Thank you.”

“So neve--”

“Richie wei--”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After that, there were never any other implications that their family needed anything more. They were complete with just the three of them. No siblings. No other sons. And certainly, no daughters. Girls were not something Maggie wanted to deal with as a mother. However, it became evident that she did have an honorary daughter in the form of Beverly Marsh. Maggie decided she could make an exception to having never wanted a daughter because Bev had every quality she never expected in a daughter and was more than happy to take her on as her own rather than producing her own female spawn.

Once summer ended with Richie coming home with a bloodied palm just days after coming out to her and Went, Bev ended up coming to their house just as much as Eddie or Stan or Bill did. Perhaps, even more than they did. Bev was currently in the custody of her Aunt Martha and was supposed to move by the end of the year but Bev had managed to convince her Aunt that moving before the school year was over could be potentially dreadful in regards to her grades and overall school experience. She’d be better off staying in Derry to complete the current school year and such logic was truly infallible so her Aunt had signed a two-year lease, as that was the shortest lease they could get in Derry, in a complex near where Bev used to live with her disgrace of a father who was now dead-- news that saddened absolutely no one. The circumstances of his death were slightly murky but no one seemed interested in pressing the subject. Maggie knew there was more to what was released by reporters but she also knew Bev deserved to escape that man and seemed significantly happier in her new apartment with her Aunt. 

Obviously, this meant that Richie and his friends had an undetermined amount of time left with Bev and that was absolutely devastating to them. They’d only just completed their group over the summer and re-solidified it the day they all vanished from the face of the Earth and would now start to peel apart at the seams once the countdown to Bev’s departure came to an end. It was something none of the kids wanted to admit and were simply attempting to ignore by spending as much time together with Bev as humanly possible given their time together was uncertain.

It made Maggie feel warm inside that Bev often chose their house as her place to be when she was not at home or hanging out in the Clubhouse that Richie had mentioned a few times in passing. He would not disclose the location of this hangout but as long as it was safe and structurally sound, as Richie insisted it was, Maggie had no complaints. 

The more Bev was at their place, the more Maggie realized that this girl truly needed a stable family dynamic in her life. She was not like most girls in that she was not bitchy and judgemental like Greta Keene was. Nor was she obsessive with clothes in the shallow way that some were. She truly had an eye for fashion and saw clothes as a form of self-expression and art and Maggie had on more than one occasion found her attempting to makeover Richie’s wardrobe while he put his laundry away and she lay on top of his bed. 

“You could wear so many other things but you choose _this?”_ Maggie had heard Bev saying while she cleaned the bathroom from across the hall. Maggie can only imagine she’s holding up one of the various patterned shirts or t-shirts with questionable images and sayings on them.

“What?” Richie asks, defensively. “I like them.”

“You could dress _so_ much better. I know your mom and dad don’t dress you. They dress like regular people with brains in their head.”

“I take offense to that. I think I dress okay.”

“For a middle-aged man on vacation, sure.” Bev giggled. “You should let me make you over one day. Ooooh, let me dress you for eighth-grade formal.”

“What? I am _not_ going to _that!”_ Richie insisted. Maggie can only think that he certainly was. She’d force him into a tux and handcuff him to the bleachers in the school gymnasium if she had to. “It’s stupid.”

“Only people who can’t get dates say that, Richie.” Bev laughed. “What? You too shy to ask a girl?”

That was a _thing_ . Although Richie had come out to them and that had resulted in the three of them crying and hugging, he had not found it in himself to come out to any of his friends. He was still in a rather compromised mental state from whatever trauma had been induced upon him that summer and he was not fully recovered by any means. He was at a point where he was slowly accepting himself and had only just made peace with himself the day he left the house with his father’s pocketknife and came home and to announce to his parents that he was gay. Maggie did not know when or even _if_ Richie would come out to his friends. 

“No.” He had mumbled and Maggie could only imagine the way his face dropped. 

“Hey, don’t look like that.” a pause. “Any girl would be lucky to have you trashmouth. You’re a cutie and don’t pretend like you don’t know it.” 

“Oh shut up Ringwald.”

“Well of course there is the fact that you ruin absolutely everything with that mouth of yours.” She teased back. “But, really, you need to let me dress you at least once before highschool.” She pauses. “And let me dress you then, too.” 

“Oh fine, whatever.” He had groaned.

Maggie knew a biological daughter would not have mingled as well with Richie as Bev did. The two of them were so wildly alike in various ways that made their relationship special in a way that was different from his relationship with people like Stan or even Eddie for that matter. Well, especially Eddie. Richie could sprawl across Bev and curl up against her without a flush coming across his cheeks. She absolutely adored the little red-head and could care less what other parents had to say about her allowing Bev stay the night at their house--with Martha’s approval of course-- and spending as much time as she did around Richie.

Parents, like Sonia Kaspbrak felt the need to go into graphic detail about why Bev was a supposedly problematic child and how she was dirty. Maggie did not give a singular shit as to what Sonia had to say. Bev had done absolutely nothing to indicate that the vulgar rumors spread about her held any validity. Sure, Maggie could see that the girl batted her eyelashes on occasion to get what she wanted and that didn’t make her a bad person. It made her an absolute genius. She was developing into a beautiful young woman and the girl clearly knew it and knew how to utilize this against the half-brained idiots that inhabited the town to get what she needed. 

None of the boys cared what they’d heard about Bev either. Especially Richie and Eddie. Eddie only heard some of the rumors at school but heard a majority from his mother who, to Maggie’s relief, he knew to be a liar. _That_ had been one of the best things to come out of the summer in Maggie’s opinion. Anything Sonia told him became a load of horseshit in Eddie’s mind. The longer Eddie went on without believing that he was frail and needed protected, the more Maggie saw of the boy. Sure, the boy always came out of his shell when he was over at their place because she and Eddie had made a deal to keep certain things under wraps when he was small, but now Eddie didn’t feel the need to hide anything around anyone, especially his bravery around his mother. 

He stood up for himself not only against that woman but to others too. He no longer had multiple alarms on his little wristwatch and no longer mindlessly puffed on a water vapor inhaler and didn’t swallow sugar pills every day of his life. But habits embedded into one's mind by a sick woman do die hard. He did flinch at the sight of sick people still and jumped at the sound of beeps and reached for a fanny pack that he no longer strapped around his narrow waist. He fought the urges and twisted thought processes and that itself was a remarkable feat. He had a mind of his own and was still forced to hear his mother’s moaning and claims that he was _betraying_ her, but Eddie had clearly graduated from being her Eddie-bear and was now his own person who did not need someone else to take care of him and Maggie was immensely proud of him. It was like seeing a new person. 

Richie didn’t care about the rumors simply because he was Richie. He had made cracks about them when they first became friends and Maggie had berated him for such comments but she knew they were half hearted and he held no malice. He spent a lot of time with Bev, especially since the two of them had near identical school schedules and had chosen each other as partners for every partner project they’d been assigned thus far. 

The two of them were almost always together or together with their friends. Sure, Richie still had Stan as his best friend whom he hung out with just as frequently as they had before the summer blowout and he still had Eddie as his… “something special” who he would still run around with to the movies and to the ice cream parlor and for sleepovers in the Tozier living room. But Bev was the sister Richie never knew he wanted or needed. She was an honorary Tozier at this point and maybe Maggie never wanted a daughter but she definitely wanted Bev and Bev definitely needed them.

With Bev now having a solid group of friends she could be herself around, she found herself able to partake in activities that she had never participated in before. Prior to befriending Richie and all the Losers (which is what they called themselves in order to “take back the label” or refer to themselves as such before a bully could which kind of confused Maggie and Went but it was endearing), she never got to immerse herself in experiences that were, in the kid’s minds, vital to their middle school experience. One of the biggest ones she finally got to enjoy was Halloween.

Maggie was under the impression that Bev’s shithead of a father never let her run around on Halloween solely for his own sick, perverted desires. He couldn’t have his “little girl” running around in some costume that might expose a shoulder or a midriff-- something that would drive the boys up a wall or something twisted like that. Bev no longer had his cunning and bone-chilling voice in her ear to tell her to stay inside with him while all the other kids ran around with buckets and pillowcases to eat themselves sick. Unfortunately, the kids were all thirteen and this was typically the year kids finally called it quits in regards to the Halloween Hayride, trick-or-treating, or other Halloween festivities. Maggie knew for a fact that Richie had initially planned on just going on the hayride and then handing out candy with Eddie at their place. 

However, when it became known that Bev had never gotten to dress up or do anything exciting for the spooky season, Richie took it upon himself to convince the other Losers to not only enjoy their usual Halloween Hayride, but to throw a small party in their clubhouse and trick or treat one last time before they became big, bad high schoolers. Bev was not aware that this sudden change of heart with the boys was due to her and none of them had any plans in telling her. They wanted to do nothing except enjoy one another’s company while giving Bev an experience she had been wrongly deprived of as a child. 

The Hayride had not been thwarted by any bullies as it had in previous years and Maggie was not forced to come pick up her son who had lied to save someone’s ass. It was one that they did the bare minimum in regards to costuming-- with animal ears she’d bought for them at the costume shop and face painting that Bev did for each of them just before they left. It was a basic affair, but one that Maggie could tell meant more to Bev than she would let herself exhibit. 

Bev had an extremely understated way of expressing herself. While she was an expressive person that spoke her mind, she didn’t allow herself to fully demonstrate the intensity of her emotions. She’d give a half-smile and let a scrunched nose and sparkling eyes speak for her. She wasn’t one to scream with laughter like some of the boys or jitter with excitement. It wasn’t a bad thing, but it definitely came from years of hiding a part of her life in order to please a shitty man whose only accomplishment was having Bev as a daughter. 

While her reactions were subtle, Maggie knew she cherished every moment with “her boys” as Bev often referred to all the other members of the Losers Club. Their Halloween Party was again, a small affair and not one they even dressed up for. Instead, the kids all promised to bring snacks to the Clubhouse and celebrate with music and various games. Richie and Bev ended up leaving rather late after they had spent way too long in the kitchen attempting to make candied apples which had been a disaster and had forced them to beg Maggie to buy some from the grocery store while they attempted to scrape out the pan that had caramelized sugar stuck to it. They were not successful despite Richie informing Maggie that they literally took a knife to the stuff and bent the blade. She ended up throwing the pan and knife out. Once she returned with their sought after treats, they immediately pulled on their coats, thanked her, grabbed some mixtapes, and left.

Maggie and Went wanted absolutely no information as to what the kids did while at their miniature halloween party. All she knew was that Richie smelled strongly of the cigarettes Maggie knew that Bev swiped from Mr. Keene’s pharmacy and Richie and most of the other boys who ended up staying the night at their place had lipstick smeared across their face and some of the boys were definitely avoiding eye contact with one another. All Maggie could do was distantly relive her middle school days of spin-the-bottle and seven minutes in heaven. 

Trick-or-treat ended up being the most special of occasions and a reason why Bev spent nearly every weekend sleeping over at the Tozier residence. It was her first time actually getting to dress up and she wanted to go all out and spent hours planning out costume ideas with Richie since September first came around and they decided they would have one last trick-or-treat as opposed to their aforementioned plans of handing out candy. Maggie had offered a few simple ideas which Bev happily wrote down but Richie had informed her that Bev only did it to be nice. 

Her son, while a sweetheart, was also the biggest asshole in the world.

It was about two Saturdays before Halloween and Bev was staying the night with them while planning costumes with Richie, who was set on just wearing whatever he wore to the Halloween hayride which had been cat ears and a pink nose painted on by Bev with whiskers. Maggie was in the midst of making dinner with Went and as usual, elected to eavesdrop on their conversation. 

“I think I want to do a joint costume.”

“You’ve never smoked pot.” Richie told her and Maggie could hear the sound of what had to be Bev’s notebook slamming into her son’s head. He definitely asked for it that time. Truly, he did most of the time. “Ow!”

“I mean like a paired costume.”

“Oh, like a couple’s costume? With who? Billiam? Bennifer?”

Another smack and another yipe from her son. “You’re such a gossip, Richie.” Bev growls playfully. “No. I thought _we_ could since I’m here all the time and I still want to dress you up.”

“I have a costume.”

“You’re not wearing those stupid cat ears. You complained that they squished your big head the whole night.”

“My head isn’t that big.” Richie grumbles. “It’s my hair. It’s fluffy.”

“I like it. You looked kinda stupid with it short.”

“Thanks, Bev. I can always count on you for a self-esteem boost.”

“Hey, I told you you’d grow into your looks.”

“I don’t even know what it means.”

“It means you won’t look so weird one day.”

“Again, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I think we should do Sandy and Danny from _Grease_.”

“Excuse me?” Richie’s voice is one of strong opposition.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t like that movie. You know every word to Summer Nights and You’re the One That I Want.”

That is a fact. Maggie and Went share a glance with each other, snorting to themselves. Richie is definitely not aware of how loud he sings in the shower. He’s surprisingly on key most of the time, too. 

“You should ask one of your lover boys.”

“Okay, no. You have the look for it and you’re the only one that’s settling for a shit costume.” Bev argues. “Plus I’m not asking you to perform while we’re getting candy… just dance a little for some pictures.”

“Oh hell n--”

“You always dance, asshole. If we’re being honest you’re the only one with rhythm out of our friends. Please? It’s my first _actual_ Halloween, Richie.”

“You suck. Fine. What are we doing? Like which look?”

“I definitely think you need to do the Summer Nights look because you’d look nice in a leather jacket and if you think I’m doing anything other than Bad Sandy, you’re _insane.”_

“Wouldn’t have thought otherwise. Where are you gonna find those tight ass pants?”

“I’ll find them. We have to find you a leather jacket.”

“I’ll steal my dad’s.”

“We need one that will actually fit you.”

“Hey, I’ve grown _two_ inches since August. My mom marks my height in the kitchen.”

“That’s _adorable._ And that may be true, but you’re a string bean.”

“You’re getting all your chucks out tonight, aren’t you?”

“Just keeping you humble, trashy.”

“Fine. I’ll do it. We can probably check out some places downtown tomorrow. Will your Aunt let y--”

“Yes, Richie. She loves you. If I mention I’m hanging out with you, Martha is immediately on board.”

xXx

Maggie ends up slipping Richie an extra couple of bucks to cover not only the pieces of his costume but Bev’s as well. She is rather excited to see how the two of them pull it off and when Halloween does swing around, it is quite obvious that the two of them have the best look out of their entire group.

Since Halloween fell on a Tuesday, the two immediately came home after school and started prepping. Most of the prep was dedicated to Bev attempting to tame Richie’s hair-- something Maggie had given up on when he was a child. Now that he was growing it out again, it was a mess of fluffy curls that had a mind of their own. Bev did not seem deterred by their unruly nature and spent a good two hours ignoring Richie’s complaining and yelps of pain as she combed at it and straightened the pieces in order to gel them back in a manner that was uncannily similar to Danny’s from the film. Bev’s hair was curly like Sandy’s had been in You’re The One That I Want but she still worked to ensure that her curls were slightly more voluminous and bouncier. It was a slightly difficult task and Maggie ended up being called to help her seeing as Bev had maintained her stylish pixie cut which made the style moderately difficult. 

Richie sat on the edge of the bathtub, wearing the white t-shirt and jeans meant for the costume, watching his mother work on Bev’s hair.

“You know Rich,” Bev starts as Maggie teases back some of her hair. “If you had your mom’s hair color, we’d have to make you Sandy.”

“I think I’d look good in those pants.” He says, nodding to the skin-tight ones that Bev managed to find. 

Maggie shakes her head as she laughs, finishing up Bev’s hair. “Alright, Miss _Sandy_ , I think you look quite lovely.”

“Thank you, Maggie.” Bev says, beaming as she begins working on her makeup.

Out of all of Richie’s friends, Bev is the only to call her by her name as opposed to ‘Mrs. Tozier’ or ‘Richie’s mom.’ Some might find it disrespectful but it is something that Maggie genuinely appreciated and made her love the girl even more.

The two of them spend a bit longer with their finishing touches and the occasional snack break before they finally decide it’s time to get a move on. When they come down, Maggie and Went cannot help but be surprised at how true to the character they managed to stay. Obviously this is all thanks to Bev since Richie would probably just throw on a black hoodie and just not wash his hair for a week and say it was all good. Bev hands Maggie her own camera and Maggie makes sure to snap photos with both her and Bev’s camera. Bev snags Richie’s glasses off his face before they start taking shots which leaves Richie somewhat squinty eyed in the pictures but Bev insists that it works because John Travolta has smaller eyes than Richie anyway. 

After several photos of the two of them posing and mimicking random scenes from the film, Richie is clearly annoyed with the incessant flashing and begins sticking his tongue out for each picture. To Richie’s delight, the photoshoot is halted when the other Losers knock on their door, pillowcases in hand. 

Maggie opens the door and cannot help but laugh at the costumes the others have managed to coin up. They’re all rather interesting with Ben as a mad scientist and Eddie as Peter Pan being her favorites, but Bev and Richie have definitely taken the cake with theirs. Bev and Richie walk out with their own bags and Mike lets out a low whistle at the sight of them.

“Don’t.” Richie grouches as he puts his glasses back on.

“You look cool, Richie.” Eddie tells him, his face flushing under the homemade feathered cap. 

Maggie cannot hide her smirk at that but also notices the flash of jealousy across Ben and Bill’s faces that Bev and Richie genuinely look really good together. Teenagers are truly hopeless creatures. She can only hope that can come to their senses by the time they’re _her_ age and realize what idiots they had been at thirteen. 

“I think you should’ve done Tinkerbell, Eds.” Richie teases.

“I take it back.”

“Uh-uh!” Richie laughs.

“Alright,” Maggie interrupts before the two of them can continue their playful banter or resort to beating each other up, “I’ll give you kids a head start. Be back no later than ten and don’t cause any trouble.” She looks at her own son at that before grabbing their own candy bowl that she’s filled with an abundance of treats seeing as it’s expected that kids are going to be out in huge packs this year given the past summer they had and an abundance of new families had moved in seeing as the housing market completed tanked and prices were at an all-time low just before the other kids were finally found. 

The kids greedily dumb a good portion of their candy into their sacks before waving her and Went goodbye and going out to live out one last Halloween. 

“Do you think they’ll get arrested?” Went asks, sticking on Richie’s cat ears on top of his own head. 

“I say wait for high school.”

“Oh, I remember my eighth grade Halloween. Well not really actually. It was my first time getting drunk.”

“Our son isn’t that rotten, yet.”

Went just laughs. “I’m sure he’s more rotten than we know.”

xXx

Bev and Richie come home slightly past ten, having parted ways with the other Losers. They’re somewhat disheveled with their hair slightly less put together as it was when they left (especially Richie’s who must have been running around like a banshee the whole night) and Bev is now wearing one of Bill’s sweatshirts they must have grabbed whilst running around the neighborhood given the crisp October air that often became biting once the sun dipped below the horizon. 

“How was it?” Maggie asks.

“It was great!” Bev is absolutely beaming.

“You two get ready for bed. Are you crashing down here or in Richie’s room?”

“Down here. We need to trade candy and my floor doesn’t exist right now.” Richie admits.

“Get on that tomorrow.” Went says. They all know Richie won’t.

The two of them head upstairs and spend a relatively long time cleaning their hair out of the excess amount of product they’d used and changing into pajamas that are warm enough to remove the chill that has settled into their bones after hours outside. Bev ends up wearing some of Richie’s stuff seeing as her own pajamas had been nothing except a pair of shorts and a tanktop-- far too thin for this time of year. His t-shirt while baggy seeing as Richie cannot figure out his own sizing is snug around her chest for obvious reasons and his pants fall slightly short on her ankles as she is still slightly ahead of Richie and the other boys in terms of her growth. They’re all quickly catching up and will soon leave her in their gangly shadows. 

They come back down where they’ve left their bags and Maggie is setting up the couch and loveseat with some sheets and extra blankets.

“I called your aunt and let her know you got home in one piece.”

“Thank you, Maggie.” Bev turns to Richie. “I’ll give you all my Hot Tamales for your Resees.”

“Don’t you ever tell people you have a peanut allergy?” Maggie asks. 

“No. I wouldn’t have trading candy if I did.” Richie says as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. 

“Hey. I’ll profit off his stupidity.” Bev shrugs, accepting all of Richie’s peanut butter cups. 

“Plus I like them and I have an EpiPen and Eddie carries my backup now.”

“Of course he does.” Bev snorts.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re both like an old married couple.”

Richie goes a deep shade of red before opening a thing of tamales and shoving a fistful into his mouth.

“Did Richie ever tell you abou--”

“Mom, _no_.”

“Mom, _yes_.” Bev says. 

“Oh, everyone loves the story!” Maggie laughs. “He stuck those up his nose when he was little and made himself half sick and we had to get tweezers in order to get one of them out.”

“That… that doesn’t surprise me at all.” Bev snorts. “You were probably a terror child.”

“I was an _angel.”_

“What happened?”

“Marsh, you’re a piece of shit. I’ll give you… this is bullshit I can’t trade anything because fucking every candy has peanuts. Let me get my epi--”

“RICHARD, NO.” Maggie snaps as she grabs extra blankets for the two teens.

“Idiot.” Bev snorts. “Just take anything you _can_ eat from my bag. I’ll be sure to clear you of anything you can’t have.”

“A real saint you are Beverly Marsh.” Richie says with a rather poor Scottish accent. 

“Don’t eat yourselves _too_ sick, alright?”

“We won’t!” the pair says in unison.

Maggie makes her way upstairs where Went ended up calling it a night while Bev and Richie were taking turns in the shower. As she reaches the top step she can clearly hear Bev say, “Thank you for making this the best Halloween, trashmouth.”

“Anything for my sister from a shitty mister.”

xXx

**December 1989**

Eddie decided he would be spending most of winter break with the Toziers this year. Obviously, he was somewhat obligated to spend Christmas Eve and day with his mother, but he’d made it clear that any opportunity that he could, he would be spending it under their roof. This was absolutely fine by the Toziers as they knew that Eddie deserved a home where he was not made to feel guilty for not taking medications he did not need and for having a life that entailed something more enjoyable than watching reruns of _I Love Lucy_ in the living room whilst nursing a fake cold that his mother insisted he had.

“You’re putting too much icing on the cookies, Rich!” Eddie scolded as Richie literally dunked his cut-out into the bowl of icing that Maggie made for the boys. 

“Well then this one is mine!” Richie says, licking the sugary substance off his fingers.

“Isn’t your dad a dentist?” Eddie says with disgust.

“Yeah and unlike you, I’ve never had a cavity.” Richie snarks.

“That is true.” Went says as he focuses on placing sprinkles on his tree cookie.

“You’re gross.” Eddie groans as Richie takes a spoon and allows the icing to fall into his mouth.

“He’s right,” Maggie agrees, scrunching her nose. “That’s enough, Richie.”

“Buzzkills, all of ya lot.” Richie mutters, reaching for some of the white sprinkles to dust upon his blue-iced snowflake cookie. 

“Is Bev coming over today?” Eddie asks. There is a small hint of jealousy in his voice.

“Probably. She and Martha are getting her secret santa stuff for next week.”

“Shit. I still have _no_ idea what to get for Ben. Who did you get?”

“That’s not your business, Eddie Spaghetti.” 

“Don’t call me that and come on! I told you who I had!”

“That ruins the magic, dumbass.” Maggie already knows Richie has Eddie and has been spending night after night attempting to figure out the perfect gift.

“Well then what do you think I should get him?”

“A date with your mom.”

“You’re a piece of shit.” 

“I dunno. You should replace that paddle ball of his that you broke.”

“Stan broke it!”

“Sure he did. Get him a book on building or something. He’d like that, I think.”

“I could take you to get something now if you want, Eds.” Went says. “I’m going to get some wrapping paper now and could help you find something.”

“Really?” Eddie sits up excitedly. 

“Wait why does he get to call you Eds without you bitching?”

“Shut up, Richie.” Eddie elbows Richie. 

“Yeah, it’s no problem.” Went says, decidedly ignoring their relentless bickering. “It’s supposed to be pretty shitty weather this week and I wouldn’t want to find out from Richie that you went on the icy roads and broke your arm again.”

Eddie snorts. “So as long as he doesn’t try to snap it back.”

“They do it in the movies!” Richie defends.

Eddie simply rolls his eyes and moves to grab his puffer coat that Richie incessantly teases him for, “Thank you Mr. Tozier.”

“Pick up some more sprinkles while you’re out.” Maggie says. “And you’re staying the night, yes Eddie?”

“Uh-huh! Thank you!” He then follows Went out leaving Maggie and Richie to decorate more of the cookies.

They enjoy each other’s company in silence, occasionally teasing each other for their shoddy decorating skills. Their silence is eventually broken by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Richie shouts. They’ve stopped locking their doors ever since the horrors of summer came to an end. 

“Hey!” Bev calls from the living room. She takes a few moments to get her coat, hat, and gloves off before coming to meet Maggie and Richie, her freckled nose tinged red from the cold. “Oooh! Looks great so far!” She squeals as she admires the finished cookies which are not exactly bakery-standard in terms of their decorating ability; but they’re rather cute nevertheless.

“Did you get your present?”

“Yup. Did you?”

“No.” Richie’s shoulders slump. “I have a few ideas but I think they might be a little… overkill.”

“Hit me with them.”

“Uh, promise you won’t tell?”

“Of course. That kills the magic.”

“That’s what I sai-- anyway, I have Eddie and I want to do something he’ll really like without it being _too much._ ”

“Alright. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I got paid from Margaret and Wentworth Tozier for my stellar grades and I have some cash to spare if I wanted to go with getting him a pair of decent running shoes. I know Eddie was talking about going out for track in the spring since he’s on this rebellious streak and he only really has a few shitty pairs of sneakers.” Bev’s eyes go slightly wide at that but she stays silent. “And if I wanted to be more creative, I was thinking of making him a mixtape or something with songs that make me think of him. He likes all the stuff I listen to and I thought it might be nice for him to have some of his favorites and songs I think fit him.”

“Those are good ideas Rich… but they seem a little… couple-y.” Bev admits and Maggie can’t help but agree.

“Oh.” Richie says.

“Hey, it’s okay. Eddie wouldn’t take it that way. He knows you don’t like him that way.”

“Yeah.” Maggie’s heart sinks at the defeat in his voice that an untrained ear could not detect. 

“Do you?” Bev asks and Maggie herself is nearly taken aback by the question. She glances up at Richie whose face is whiter than the snow starting to cover the ground outside.

Richie shrugs. “He’s one of my best friends.”

“Okay.” Bev acknowledges. “Then he shouldn’t find it weird.”

“What if he does?” There’s desperation in his voice that is uncannily similar to the tone he held when he had broken down in front of Maggie before. 

Maggie opens her mouth to try and mitigate the situation but Bev seems to be doing a fairly decent job. “Why would he?”

“Because I’m gay, Bev.” Richie says suddenly and Maggie herself is shocked at him admitting this. However, the fact that she’s telling Bev before any of his other friends seems oddly fitting. His lip is starting to quiver. “If you wanna go home I get it but please do--”

“You’re a fucking idiot, trashmouth.” Bev cuts him off, pulling him into a hug. “Maggie, your son is an idiot.”

“Oh I know.” Maggie says kindly as Richie sniffles weakly into Bev’s shoulder as she plays delicately with his hair.

“Thank you for telling me. You know this doesn’t make anything different, right?”

“Yeah.” He swallows thickly, pulling himself back to his full height. “I do.”

“Honey, don’t cry.” Bev says gently, wiping his eyes. “I’m so proud of you and you should be too.”

“You really should. You’ve been really hard on yourself about this.” Maggie adds.

Richie wipes at his eyes from under his glasses. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, dork.” Bev scolds with a gentle laugh. 

“Sor-- alright, Ringwald.”

Bev thinks for a moment. “So, you have a crush on Eddie?”

“Bev!” Richie shouts, glancing at his mother before smacking her with a wooden spoon. 

“Honey, I’ve known this since you were five. Don’t act like I don’t know.”

“Okay, yes. I have the tiniest crush on Eddie and I’m gay. What other secrets do you need to know?”

“Have you really fucked all of our moms?” Bev asks. “I’ll be incredibly impressed if you managed to dig mine u--”

“That’s crossing the line Miss Marsh!” Maggie points a finger at Bev. “You’re rubbing off on her, Rich.”

“Don’t let her fool you! She’s just as gross as me!”

Bev pokes Richie in the side. “Your mom doesn’t even hear _half_ of the shit you say.”

“Please don’t tell me.” Maggie begs. “I like to think my son is not entirely corrupt.”

Bev giggles a delicate thing. Richie’s cheeks are flushed red in a way that hints that he feels loved more than anything at Bev’s genuine acceptance of him.

“You’re the only one of our friends that knows.” Richie mumbles quietly. 

“Really?” Bev seems somewhat shocked. 

“I mean they might know. I know people talk about me.”

“None of us believe what anyone says about you.” Bev pauses. “Not that them saying you’re gay is bad but why would we believe anything about you that didn’t come from _you?”_

“Thanks. It means a lot.”

“No thank you for trusting me this much, Richie-Rich.” Bev smiles, grabbing a stocking cookie and the bowl of red icing. “You’re probably my best friend.”

“I think Stan is mine but you’re my best girl.” 

“I’ll take it. It’s impossible to compete with Stan-the-Man.” She snorts. “I think you should get him whatever you want.”

“But what if he thinks I like him or thinks I’m being weird?”

“He won’t. Eddie cares about you a lot, Rich. You could paint him a picture of you kissing his mom and he would say he hates it but then put it on his nightstand to look at every night before bed.” 

Richie shrugs. “I don’t want to get him the wrong thing. I know he would be really excited about the shoes and it might motivate him to _really_ sign up but I also think the music thing is more…”

“From the heart.” Bev finishes.

“But I don’t know if that sends the wrong message?”

“It’s not. You love him.” Richie opens his mouth but she cuts him off. “Not just because you have a crush on him. You love him as a friend too. You love all of us, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” He admits.

“Then you have your answer.”

“But--”

“We already got Eddie shoes, dingus.” Maggie tells him. “I’ll kill you if you take our thunder. Make the boy a mixtape and try to _save_ your money for once. Just because you have it doesn’t mean you have to spend it. Plus, _that_ gift will mean more to Eddie.”

“Fine. I’ll make him a mixtape.” Richie grumbles.

“He’s gonna love it.” Bev tells him, a genuine smile on her face. 

xXx

Richie ends up making the mixtape right under Eddie’s nose as he continues to spend most nights of winter break under their roof. The Losers end up spending their secret santa at the Toziers which is a surprise to no one. Maggie utilizes this time to invite the parents (sans Sonia) and Bev’s Aunt over for their own adult fun which includes some games in the kitchen and some spiked eggnog. It’s really nice to have everyone together. The Denbroughs seem relatively recovered from their loss, but Maggie knows this time of year has to be exceptionally hard on them as the loss of their son seems to burn brighter with each holiday, birthday, and anniversary. However, it is quite obvious that the festive atmosphere is something they truly appreciate. 

Bev informs Maggie later that Eddie nearly cried upon opening his gift from Richie. He ends up loving the thing and it’s clearly something Eddie loves. Maggie can tell simply because everytime he comes over and drops his stuff by their front door , she can see that his cassette player always holds the tape labeled: “E’s Hits Vol. I” in bright red ink. It’s clearly special to Eddie just as Eddie is special to Richie. 

Richie can only thank Bev for his push. Maggie is thankful that Richie really does have a sister that is as supportive as Bev in his life.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how we felt about that choppy ass mess but whatever an attempt was made. Am doing the try as I've said countless times. I am a hack. I am baby. hope u don't hate it. if u do, whoops. I'm a little iffy about this one but I always am but i dunno my stomach and brain hurt posting it but whatever. i did the TRY. 
> 
> Also RE Trash posted another tiktok compilation. They keep me sane! Go watch it. She has a whole playlist dedicated to her Losers Club as TikToks now and it's a good way to pass the time!!!! She's a cool ass ho. I also stumbled upon a lot of IT Tiktokkers this week because the algorithm KNOWS me too well. 
> 
> I miss college. I didn't realize my last time at college bars with my friends and my sleepovers and last night in my apartment with a KILLER view would be my last with my current friends. Im not graduating till fall but all my friends are gonna be gone and I didnt expect it all to end so fast? College made me super sad and was bad for my mental health a lot but I really love it and doing everything online in my bed isn't the same. I miss poorly insulated lecture halls and showing up late to class with starbucks and singing Mr. Brightside, Sweet Caroline, and other white people hype songs in a bar.
> 
> Is it time to write a Reddie college fic projecting all my drunk memories on those idiots because my drunk stories are more chaotic than John Mulaney drinking perfume? Oh yes. 
> 
> Self isolation mcfuckin blows. I hope you're all flattening that curve and trying to maintain your sanity. I'm sorry for anyone struggling right now. I know it sucks. You can do this and I'm proud of everyone still working at it. I know everything is changing rapidly and it sucks and people enjoy minimizing the struggle but your sadness and pain are entirely valid here! Other people might have it worse and that matters a lot but just because someones problem is objectively more severe, does NOT mean you cannot be sad too! We're all in this together. Stay healthy! 
> 
> Richie is still a sick non corona baby. Eddie is playing mother highkey and snuggles him only to coat himself in lysol after. Eddie just ordered 500 dollars worth of hand sanitizer to donate to the shelters with Richie's credit card. Richie got out of the house and bought a 6 pack of corona to make Eddie laugh. Eddie was not amused. The bottles have been shattered.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what sucks? Having a chapter you didn't hate and accidentally had it on your notes for you school document and copy and pasted it and then went to add it to your actual doc and then accidentally copy and pasted something else and ended up losing it entirely. Then you're left with zero way of getting it back and spending 2 hours trying to do so and then just crying in bed because you're mad and this is the tip of your emotional iceberg because everything feels fucked up and you're about to be girl time and you never learned how to emotionally process stress beyond the level of a 3 year old. Not that I can relate. haha. jk i can.
> 
> I am fuming. This chapter makes me mad because of that whole ordeal. I'm having a moment. If you hate it well fucking same. It's here out of spite. I did a mighty struggle and I know this one is probably really confusing and all over the place but I genuinely am just over it after all of that bullshit and want this one done so I can forget it and move on to 19 and pretend 18 never happened. This chapter is a fucking little bitch and I hope it gets the clap. I'm just big ANGER. 
> 
> Additionally, throwback to the previous chapter: Kind soul S.T. pointed out some of the views may have seemed toxic and they're not mine by any means! I'm conveying an opinion that is actually my mom's who would be of similar age to Maggie and leftist views which Maggie obviously holds because she is an accepting ass mother, were not nearly to the level they are now back in the 80-90s. So yee. If ya decide not to read because of it, I get it! Don't sweat it. Just know I'm not that much of an ass! I am an ass but not like that. 
> 
> enjoy the chapter that made me fuckin mad. or don't. 
> 
> tw: Slurs and bullying! Also, Richie is having some attitude issues in this one. i mean all teenagers do but his are brought on by the fact that we are acknowledging that the arcade scene happened in a PUBLIC place as well as that mean ass thing written about Richie in the bathroom stall.

Maggie knew Richie would always be at risk.

**April 1990**

Ever since Henry Bowers had been arrested and his friends killed by the former, Maggie was under the impression that Richie’s days of incessant bullying were behind him. Sure, he still had to endure cruel words and rough shoves from his cousins anytime they were forced to make an appearance at Maggie’s mother’s house; however for the most part, it felt as if the days of Richie being tormented were finally over. Sure, he wasn’t necessarily a popular kid and would always be subject to snide comments from other students when he incessantly ran his mouth at school, but that was nothing compared to the kind of stuff the Bowers gang used to put Richie and his friends through. 

The end of middle school was easily the worst time of most kid’s lives. It was the start of the awkward phase which Richie was quite rapidly falling into with his steadily growing height, oily skin, and of course the appointment that was set for him to get his braces on toward the end of the summer. Went initially wanted to wait a while until Richie was done growing so they could avoid nightly headgear, but there was no saying when Richie would stop growing given the gangly genes he had earned from not one parent, but both, so sleepovers with the metal wires around his head would soon be a part of Richie’s future. It was also a test of friendships as they got ready to make the big transition to high school-- luckily Richie and his friends had already passed this test after recovering from their blowout last summer. 

It could all be a lot worse if Bowers biting words and relentless beatings had to accompany this portion of their life-- but luckily they would ever have to see him and his greasy face again. This period, although one that was often regarded as a point that no one in their right mind would ever want to relive, was proving to yield some positives in her son’s life. The Losers were excited to finally be high schoolers and although Maggie was saddened by this rapid development, she was thrilled to see how Richie and his friends (or as she called them: her honorary children) grew into something resembling adults in the next four years. As far as she could see, it looked as if her son would end his year on a rather upbeat note with his friends, sharing a bond that was clearly unbreakable and full of excitement of their very first formal upon the horizon. 

Richie had previously been so against the idea of going and only agreed under Bev’s influence, but as time went on, he seemed more thrilled by the notion of going to a dance with his best friends by his side. He even had the date circled in highlighter on the calendar that was hung on his wall among the smattering of other posters, pictures, and momentos he deemed special enough to be tacked into the walls of his bedroom. The only potential problem with Richie and formal was the fact that he genuinely had nothing to wear. He’d grown out of all his formal attire with his height steadily creeping upward. 

Not even the ghastly powder blue suit he’d worn to Stan’s Bar Mitzvah fit properly. He’d tried the thing on even though Maggie insisted that there was  _ no way in hell _ she would ever let him wear that disgrace again. Luckily they found that the jacket was rather snug over his bony shoulders and the sleeves barely reached the middle of his wrists. The pants weren’t even in the question as even Richie knew his legs were growing faster than the rest of him given that he complained about growing pains in his thighs almost constantly. 

It was something they definitely had to shop for and initially that had worried Maggie, for her son was about as fashionable as he was into girls. He wasn’t. Luckily, with a growing friendship that mimicked a healthy sibling dynamic, there were minimal worries about Richie making himself look like a fashionless noodle at his end-of-year formal as they had Bev’s sharp eye for fashion at their side. Richie, despite bickering with Bev about her endless teasing of his rather disgraceful fashion sense, always listened to the types of suggestions Bev made when it came to clothes that would flatter him.

Maggie could pay Richie to listen to the best suggestions in the world for what he should wear but Richie immediately rejected her suggestions and would steer himself right toward a neon-green suit jacket--something Maggie didn’t even know they  _ made.  _ The minute Bev stepped in, however, Richie was all ears, especially when Bev smartly mentioned that Eddie would probably think that the navy blue suit they picked out as the number one candidate for them to potentially pick up once Richie was appropriately sized with a subtly patterned tie would nicely compliment his eyes. 

Bev was still the only friend to know about Richie’s sexuality and undying crush for his best friend. She’d encouraged him on multiple occasions to tell the other Losers but never pushed him much since she knew he was not in a state where he was comfortable doing so. He was fearful that he would somehow manage to disrupt the friendship dynamic. 

“You know they would accept you.” Bev had told Richie while the two were lounging in the Tozier living room and barely watching whatever movie that they had rented for themselves while Maggie and Went sat across the room, finally filling empty photo frames with some of their more favorite pictures of them, Richie, and his friends. 

Richie shrugged, grabbing a fistfull of popcorn and shoving it in his mouth, not caring that half of it fell onto his chest. “I mean,  _ probably. _ But if some do and some don’t it’s my fault that the group is fucked up after that.”

“If someone didn’t, they wouldn’t deserve to be a Loser anyway.” Bev states with confidence. “Only people that accept their friends are real Losers.”

“Okay, but like they became friends with me thinking I wasn’t gay and whose to say they want to stay my friend with a change like that?”

“That’s literally the point of friendships, Richie.” Bev laughed. “You stay friends through changes or realizations like this.”

“Okay, but what about Eddie?”

“What about him?”

“Hi Eddie, I’m gay and like I have a ridiculous crush on you and I carved our initials into the kissing bridge because I’m that head over heels for you and I hope this doesn’t make things awkward.” Richie snorted. “That would go over well.”

“You carved your initials into the kissing bridge?” Bev coos. “That’s so sweet.”

Richie simply groaned and hid his face into a couch pillow. “I’ll… I’ll tell them one day.”

“Take your time, honey. There’s no rush, okay? I’m here for you and they will be too. I think you’ll be surprised by their reactions… especially Eddie’s.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“For someone as smart as you are, you are incredibly dense.” Bev teased him and Maggie could not help but laugh at that which only caused Richie to glare at the two of them. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.” Bev giggled. She smiles at him for a minute. “I think it’s sweet that you did that-- carve your initials into the bridge, I mean. Can I see it?”

“Knock yourself out, I guess.” Richie shrugs and even from across the room, Maggie can see the blush across his cheeks. “I don’t know why I did it. It was during summer… you know after we all… yeah and well something happened and--”

“The arcade thing?” Bev asked suddenly and  _ that  _ piqued Maggie and Went’s interest. 

“You know about that?” Richie said, shoulders falling. 

“Well yeah, Rich. I’ve known about it since last summer.” 

“Is this about what happened the day you came home that one day?” Maggie interrupts, setting a photo down. 

“Yes.” Richie grumbles, turning his attention back to Bev with concern for his own reputation. “I know people say…  _ stuff _ , but I didn’t think they knew about that. How many people know about it?”

“Most of the school, Rich.” Bev admits. “I mean it’s not that big of a deal. No one really says anything about it now.”

“Yeah… that’s true.” 

xXx

With a dance that entailed young romance and was supposed to spark future high school romances, Richie’s incident once again became a topic of interest and the bullying that had steadily evaporated with Bower’s arrest and people leaving him alone, reared its ugly head tenfold and had various other rumors that accompanied it. Maggie was not made aware of this when it first began at the start of April as dance preparation fell into full swing. She thought nothing of it, even after the conversation Richie had had with Bev. It seemed like everything was slowly falling behind him, but kids don’t forget stuff like that. Hell, some kids still remember if so and so had wet themselves in pre-school. Kids would still tease them for it at their twenty-fifth high school reunion and beyond that. She should have known better and expected something like this to keep happening to her son. Even with Bowers gone, the narrow minded nature of Derry kids remained. 

It was not glaringly obvious that Richie was getting harassed at school until he began mimicking the same behaviors he had when he was in the second grade and was being bullied alongside his friends. However, it was slightly different this time because he was not being bullied as a collective group of “Losers” but alone for what people believed about him as they decided to force him to rehash the terrors of whatever happened that day in the arcade. 

He started getting angry faster and was quick to snap at her and Went the minute they asked for his help around the house or asked him more than one question at a time. He would roll his eyes almost constantly and always talked back in a manner that was not humorous or halfhearted as it typically was from him. There was no sarcasm behind his words when he was angry-- only malice. It was harder to sense that this was abnormal behavior for him than it was when he was little, as it was easy to attribute such anger to general adolescence and a shift in his hormones. They found themselves sending him to his room more often than not after attempting to get him to sit down and figure out his emotions proved futile. It was almost as if he wanted to be in trouble and almost welcomed the groundings that were thrown at him in rapid fire action. 

They still remained as lenient as ever when he did decide he wanted to go out with his friends but Went pointed out that perhaps they could not be so easy on him anymore.

“He’s never going to learn.” Went told her after Richie had decided to tell Went to fuck off after asking him if he needed extra help in math. That was the other thing. Richie’s grades were beginning to slip. He was still ranked among the top five in his grade but that would not be the case once final grades were released if he continued this downward spiral. “Clearly letting him off the hook so easily isn’t going to fix this new attitude problem.”

“I just hate to see him cooped up.” Maggie sighs. She knew he was right though. “But this is becoming a problem.”

And it was. So, they stopped letting him go out when he was being punished. Not that it mattered. Richie didn’t seem too interested in seeing his friends anyway. When his groundings were over, he didn’t run in the house like he normally did, giving his mom a quick hug, before informing her that he was off to the quarry or to one of his friends’ house. He only ever really left when physically prompted by his friends showing up at their door and asking for him to come and hang out with them. He never left on his own accord and that itself should have been concerning to her. But again, it was easily attributed to him being physically tired as most teenagers were. 

He was slowly withdrawing on himself and they were at the end of their rope as to what needed to be done. Nothing worked and it was obvious that his friends were noticing too. 

“You know you can tell me anything.” Eddie told Richie once when he was sitting in their house after school.

“I know that.” Richie said shortly. 

“I know what pe--” Eddie started saying.

“Stop it.” Richie cut him off and that was so unlike her son to not let Eddie of all people get a word in. Eddie had been subject to a life where his opinions and voice were shut down by everyone, most specifically his mother, and Richie was slowly understanding the type of abuse Eddie was victim of and never let himself or anyone undermine the significance of Eddie’s words. Not that Richie ever had before, but it was now a priority of his to ensure that Eddie  _ always  _ got his two cents in. “Drop it.”

Once Eddie had left that day, Maggie attempted to talk to her son for acting so rudely to Eddie. It was so uncharacteristic of Richie for he valued his friends more than he valued anyone, himself included. 

“You can’t treat your friends like that, Richie.” Maggie told him. “You never have before. Why now?” 

“He was making me mad.” Richie mumbles, shame written on his face. 

“He just wanted you to tal--”

“I don’t want to talk to people.”

“This is why I think you need to see a therapist.” Maggie inadvertently snapped at him. “You can’t act like this. I don’t know what to do with you, sometimes.”

“Well I guess that fucking sucks.”

“Richard, watch your mouth.” Maggie says, barely able to keep her voice level. “Why are you acting like this?”

He simply shrugged, disinterested in the conversation or at least he attempted to make it seem like he was.

“Richie.”

“I’m just tired of everyone being up my ass all the time like you are now.”

“We’re going to have to start doing more than just grounding you if you’re going to keep disrespecting not only us, but your friends.”

xXx

**May 1990**

He didn’t stop. He had since lost his bike, his cassette player, and was now on the verge of losing his opportunity to go to formal which was rapidly approaching. They had finally gotten his suit which now hung in their closet seeing as they could not trust Richie to keep it safe in his own closet. He was notorious for being reckless and had snagged several sweaters and stained multiple pairs of his best jeans that still managed to cover his long legs. 

But now, they were starting to threaten him with losing the ability to even go-- something Maggie really did not want to act upon as she was excited to see her son go to his first dance alongside the friends that were clearly not deterred by his sudden attitude change. They still came over even when he was grounded, which Went himself couldn’t even turn them away and would hang out with him by the pool they were starting to open after the gap year they’d taken with it last summer. It wasn’t nearly warm enough to swim in it most days, but the kids still enjoyed sticking their legs into the chilly water. 

They threatened the revocation of such an experience after he had blown up at Went one Saturday evening after coming late. 

“If you keep this up Rich, you’re not going to your formal.” Went told him sternly.

“Good. I don’t even want to go around all those assholes anyway.” Richie snapped back before they could press the subject more.

This dismissive attitude worried Maggie immensely and made her wonder if he was in yet another fight with his friends. He rarely referred to them as “assholes” unless he said it laughingly as a term of endearment; not unlike the way they called him Trashmouth.

She wanted to talk to him about what he meant by that, but instead she let him sulk on his own. 

xXx

Maggie ended up coming to a conclusion as to why Richie was behaving so atypically even before Eddie came forward.

Things got worse as the month progressed. Richie started trying to get out of school. He would attempt to feign illness and was only ever successful if he managed to work himself into an emotional state which always caused his weak stomach to turn itself inside out. He did anything to get out of going. He would try to not get out of bed when his alarm blared obnoxiously through the household and he would ignore Maggie and Went as they attempted to shake him out of bed. They often won this battle and he begrudgingly got in the car since he had yet to get his bike privileges back. It was so unlike him. Richie had no reason to miss school. He had classes with most of his friends and despite this drop in academic performance, he was still excelling with little to no effort. 

After many times of Maggie attempting to work with Richie and get him to open up as to why he felt the need to be so short with her and Went, why he was isolating himself more and more, and why he was just acting so out of character in a manner that certainly could not all be associated with puberty and hormones, Maggie finally found her answer. As she truly analyzed the situation whilst left to her own devices during a quieter moment at work and while Richie went to school after yet another battle, she realized that this was all a case of deja vu. This had all happened before. This had happened when Richie and his friends were seven and was being tormented by Henry Bowers and his now late friends. 

Upon coming to this conclusion, she approached Went with such findings during their lunch hour as they sat in his office, her feet propped upon his lap.

“Richie is being bullied again.” She said as she picked out a carrot, staring at a photo from this past Christmas where she, Went, and Richie were all piled on the couch with Went and Richie both refusing to smile and instead pulling equally ugly yet silly expressions while she smiled kindly at the camera. 

“By who?” Went asks, slumping back into his chair, putting a hand through his thinning hair that was starting to grey around the temples. They were both edging closer to forty and it was truly starting to show. 

“I don’t know. I just realized that he acted like this before when him and his friends were getting teased in elementary school.”

“He really never changed.” Went sighs, rubbing his temples. “Christ. I was just thinking it was… I don’t know, teen angst. I know I was an asshole to my parents.”

Maggie snorts a little. “I left that up to my sister most of the time… but I never really got along with my mom when I was his age either.”

“I could see him getting mad with me. I think it’s a guy thing to just always fight with your dad. I sure did, but he’s such a mama’s boy that I just couldn’t deal with him snapping at you all the time and thought he was just really being a jackass.”

“I think we should talk to one of his friends or call the school. He’s just going to get upset if we try to make him talk again.” Maggie decides. 

Went rubs his face with one hand tiredly. “I say Eddie.”

“You always do, you asswipe.”

“Oh, come on. He tells that kid ever--” Went catches himself. “ _ most  _ things.”

“We’ll figure it out later.” Maggie says, sighing heavily. 

xXx

They don’t need to figure it out as after Maggie got Richie home from school, Eddie Kaspbrak ends up going to the house despite knowing that Richie is grounded for what felt like the millionth time this past month. She had been tempted to bring it up to him as he sat sullen in the passenger seat and she finally took in the obvious sad expression in his eyes, but decided to not push her son in that moment. He was on the verge of an explosion and she did not want to be the one to ignite it.

“Hi Eddie.” Maggie greets as she opens the door for the smaller boy who appears mildly unsettled. Went would have had a field day with Eddie’s appearance had he been off work by now. 

“Hi Mrs. Tozier.” Eddie says.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” She says, stepping aside to let him in. “He’s in his room but he is grounded still.”

“No, I know. Um we were all talking and uh Richie didn’t want us doing anything about it but it’s getting kinda bad and I think you should know.”

“What’s wrong, Eddie?” She asks, dread washing over her.

“Uh so a lot of people are being really mean to Richie. Not even just people in our grade. Like  _ everyone  _ because of some rumors.”

“I see.” Maggie says sadly.

“Yeah they keep calling him a lot of names, writing stuff in the bathroom, and now kids are trying to make a petition to not let him into formal because of… the rumors.” 

“Oh.” Maggie says dumbly, shoulders dropping. She had anticipated the usual cruel insults, but this was so much more vile than she had expected. 

“I’m really sorry for not doing something sooner. He was just really upset and would get mad at us if we tried to make him tell someone and I didn’t know what to do.” He sounds desperate and his eyes are starting to swim with tears. “I-I just didn’t want to see him so sad anymore.”

“Oh sweetie, don’t blame yourself. I know how he can be with stuff like this. You were respecting his privacy and I’m really glad you’re telling me now.”

“We’ve tried telling him what they say doesn’t matter but I know it upsets him a lot.” Eddie sighs. “I’m really sorry Mrs. Tozier.”

“I appreciate it, Eddie. It really means a lot that you came to me. I’ll definitely talk to him.”

“Thank you. Please don’t… please don’t tell him I told you. He really trusted us not to say anything to anyone. We also told the teachers the other day and I know they’re talking to some of the main kids about it… but even then, I know it’ll probably still go on.”

“Can’t expect too much out of people, here. Huh?” Maggie says sadly.

“No.” Eddie shakes his head. “Thank you again. I just… I really care about Richie even if he is the world’s biggest asshole.” He laughs wetly at that, swiping at his eyes. “I want him to feel better.”

Maggie snorts slightly at the asshole comment.“Thank you again, Eddie. You’re a really good friend to him. Do you need anything else, sweetie?”

“No thank you. I’m going to the Clubhouse and I know Richie is grounded but uh…”

“I’ll tell him where you guys are at.” Maggie smiles. “I just want to talk to him about all of this first, alright?”

“Okay. I understand. Thank you again!” Eddie beams and heads out of the house.

Richie truly was blind. He had no idea how much his friends cared about him. They showed it to him endlessly and went out of their way behind his back in order to ensure his own safety and Richie still feared the worst in all of his friends. She knows this is going to be another breakdown moment but it has to happen at this point. It is something she will have to get used to while living in such a place. 

“Richie! Please come here.” She yells up the stairs for her son.

“What?” he says once he descends down the stairs, ruffled and clothes wrinkled suggesting that he was settling himself for a nap.

“I want to talk to you.” Maggie tells him and Richie immediately seizes up, edging toward the stairs as a plethora of intense emotions visibly turn inside of him. “No. Sit.” She commands. “It’s nothing you did, okay?”

He drags himself to the couch where she sits, shoulders hunched and eyes refusing to meet hers. Shame and fear.

“I know you’re going through some stuff right now. Your father and I have noticed a big change in you, lately.”

“I know.” He mumbles. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed.”

“I’m sure you are. What’s been going on at school?”

“Uh, we’re learning ab--”

“No, Richie. What are the kids doing to you at school?” 

His face pales. “They’re just… it’s nothing.”

“We both know that’s not true, Rich.” Maggie sighs. “What kind of stuff are they saying about you?”

“Nothing that’s not true.” He grumbles.

“Richie…”

“What? It is. They’re all calling me a faggot and writing stuff about me on the walls that I suck flamer cock and that I make out with fairies all because fucking Connor kissed me first before he decided to act like it was all  _ me  _ to Bowers and have them chase me out of the fucking arcade in front of everyone.” He rubs his eyes furiously as everything breaks forward. “And now everyone thinks I shouldn’t be allowed at formal because they’re saying that I think any guy with a pulse is hot because I’m fucking gay.”

“Don’t call yourself that word.” Maggie says calmly, attempting not to shrink back at his rising anger and the f-slur that too-easily rolls off his tongue in self-hatred.

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s true!” His voice breaks slightly as he attempts to yell an octave higher. He immediately goes quiet, blinking rapidly to prevent tears of frustration from escaping his ducts. 

“That’s not a nice thing to say. You are you and there’s no need to put a word that nasty to it. That’s implying that there’s something  _ wrong  _ with you. There isn’t.”

“Well everyone thinks so!” Richie yells. “It was all supposed to go away but then fucking Greta Keene made a joke about me needing a date to formal with one of the guys in our gym class and that just brought  _ everything  _ back up from the fucking summer and now no one will let it go again! I thought it was all gone now that fucking Bowers is gone but they’re never going to stop. They’re all going to make fun of me for it till fucking graduation.”

Maggie wraps her arms around him. “I knew this would bring you trouble. I always did since you were little, sweetheart.” Richie scoffs at that, clearly offended and opens his mouth to snap back. “Not because there is something wrong with  _ you _ but because what’s wrong with  _ them _ .” He slouches slightly against her, reassured. “You’re so sweet and loving and there’s so much hate in this town and I’m sorry to have brought you here but I’m also not sorry at all. No one else matters except me, your dad, and those lucky kids you get to have as your friends. You know they would accept you and they already do.”

“They don’t know, though.” He sniffles.

“They don’t, no. But if they had a problem with it, they wouldn’t be sticking by your side as this happens. Would they?”

“No.” He agrees quietly. “But they say not to listen because it’s not true. It is though.”

“Okay. Do you think they’d treat you differently if they knew it was true?”

Richie shrugs. 

“I think you know the answer to that.” She tells him, wiping away a few stray tears that have managed to sneak past. “You don’t have to admit anything to anyone. You just need to talk to a teach--”

“No.” Richie grumbles. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I just… I can’t. Please.” He begs. 

“Alright.” She’s willing to accept his inability to come forward seeing as she knows that Eddie and the other Losers have already taken the liberty of doing so. “Well, you need to hear from me, who loves you more than anyone,”

“Because you have to.” He giggles despite the sadness in him. 

“No.” She hugs him tighter. “I love you and your dad loves you no matter what. You need to stick with the people you have and know they would accept you through everything. Don’t let a bunch of shitty kids ruin your fun. It might never stop, Richie. I won’t lie to you about that. I don’t know. Things might get better. I mean believe it or not, people are a lot better about this kind of thing than they were when your dad and I were younger.” She can’t help but notice the hopeful shift in his expression and the way he involuntarily wriggles almost jovially at that. “But you deserve to enjoy yourself now and you take your time in this process. Don’t let the half-wits of Derry ruin it for you. Okay?”

He nods silently against her. “They um… Bev scratches out the stuff in the girl’s bathroom and the guys do it in the boy’s. They’ve… they’ve helped me a lot even if I’ve been kind of a dick to them.”

“You have really good friends, Richie.”

“I know.” He nods. “I’m just not ready to say anything or tell anyone besides Bev.”

“That’s okay.” She presses a kiss into his curls which causes him to groan. “Stop that. You’ll be forty and I’m still going to treat you like a complete baby.”

“That’s older than  _ you. _ ”

“Don’t say it like I’m ancient, you shithead.” She laughs, ruffling his already mussed hair. “I’m sorry all of this is happening right now.”

He nods silently. “I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

She knows why. He wanted to be in trouble. He wanted all his privileges revoked. He wanted a reason as to why he couldn’t leave the house and potentially face some of those kids. 

“You’re not a jerk. But you should still apologize to your friends..”

“I know.” He sighs. How many more times am I going to have to have mental breakdowns in front of you before things stop sucking ass?” Richie mutters.

“Oh this is just the start, sweetie.” Maggie laughs. “Just think. In high school? It gets way worse. Then there’s college and the--”

“Thanks mom. I appreciate that.” He says sarcastically. “Really giving me an optimistic view of the future.”

She laughs. “You’ll be okay. Just keep the friends you have, now. Okay?”

“If they’ll keep me is another question.” He snorts.

“If they’ve kept you this long, I think you’re okay.” She smiles at him. “Eddie swung by earlier and wanted you to come to the Clubhouse with them…”

“I’m grounded. I know.”

“Eh, your dad’s not here now and he and I were discussing all of this earlier… you’re off the hook.”

“Really?” 

“Yes. Just stop snapping at him and the rest of them. They care.”

“Fine.” He gets up, already shoving his feet into his tennis shoes. “Thanks, mom.”

xXx

Despite his obvious fears and the bullying that did die down some after the teachers took the situation that the other Losers described to them with actual haste, Richie did decide to go to his formal. Sure, snide comments were still mumbled under the stale breaths of some of the kids and the graffitied slurs continued to make their way on bathroom stalls, but it had died down to a point where existing at school became bearable to Richie once more. Enough that he was no longer attempting to get out of school, skimming on his school work, or exhibiting such severe character changes. He still was somewhat sassy at times and would talk back but the way by which he did it now, felt significantly more in place and expected out of a fourteen year old. 

Things would never be 100% in Derry and that was a cold hard fact that the Toziers were slowly accepting. Not all small towns were riddled with such deplorable minds, but unfortunately something poisoned the minds here and no amount of mediation seemed to halt the ignorance and hatefulness. It was what they had to deal with for the time being and they could only hope it never boiled beyond what it simmered at on a regular basis.

As promised earlier in the school year, Richie let Bev take the reins on getting him dolled up for formal. None of the Losers had dates and instead were going together as a collective group. Maggie and Martha had both agreed to drive the groups in separate cars even though they seemed totally set on getting to formal in their fancy clothes on their filthy bikes. While it was environmentally a good option, it was something none of the parents would permit given the money they had coughed up for their clothes. 

Bev came to the Tozier residence, accompanied by her Aunt and lugging around a bag that contained her own cosmetics and another bag that held the dress she had gotten in Bangor last month. Like last Halloween, Bev spent an excessive amount of time attempting to tame Richie’s hair. It was significantly easier this time as she was not attempting to straighten the curls but instead make them appear less like he’d sat in the middle of a tornado and more purposefully tousled and soft around his cheekbones.

“You have so much potential to be pretty, Richie.” She groans at him as she tweezes at his eyebrows. “You’re just a lazy little shit.” 

“Thanks for calling me ugly in a nice wa-- OW WHAT THE FUCK!” Richie snorts.

“It’s not that bad!”

“It feels like someone just ripped half my skin off!” He complains as Maggie walks in to check on the two.

“I’ve tried to get him to take care of those caterpillars countless times.” Maggie giggles. “Thank you.”

“This is inhum-- OW!”

“Stop being a baby.” Bev finishes his eyebrows and tilts her head at the irritated skin before dabbing into her foundation, while slightly too light for Richie shouldn’t be too noticeable. 

“Oh, yes. Let’s continue to confirm the rumors.” Richie says, arching his head away from her makeup sponge.

“You look like a tomato, dumbass.”

“Cause you went and tore off my whole eyebrow!”

“I pulled out enough hair to make a small puppy and your eyebrows are  _ still  _ thick. Shut up and hold still.” 

Although he gives whines of protests, Richie accepts the cover-up with minimal resistance. Once she’s finished with his, he simply watches with curiosity as Bev applies her own makeup-- which isn’t much. She simply glosses on a neutral lipstick and a blend of colors that enhances the rather unique blue-green tone of her eyes. She doesn’t do much to her hair except tame some of the frizzier bits in the back down. Bev is a natural beauty and it takes minimal effort to enhance her features. 

Bev dresses herself in an emerald green dress that is positively dazzling with her red hair and pale skin and Richie manages to get himself into the navy blue tux they had finally purchased after Richie had continued to debate his desire to go after a hellish last few weeks. Maggie was glad he did upon seeing him. He looked so grown up to her even though in a few years she knew she would be laughing at all the pictures they would take today about how he probably looked positively baby-faced and small in the suit. 

“You both look incredible!” Martha gushes at the two as they come downstairs, Bev confident and Richie itching at his collar uncomfortably. It’s odd for him to wear something that fits when he’s so used to parading around town in large button-downs and graphic tees. 

“Well, ya’ll gussy up real nice.” Went snorts in a Southern accent, patting Richie on the back.

“I feel like a monkey.” Richie says.

“No you don’t.” Bev says as Martha smiles kindly at her, clearly mesmerized by her niece's beauty which Maggie knows is identical to Bev’s mother.

“You both look great.” Maggie smiles. 

She has the two of them take a few pictures together, most of which are simply the two of them mid sentence as they halfheartedly insult one another. Among the various candids, there are a few keepers of them looking genuinely nice and showcasing how beautiful and handsome the two of them look. 

It’s not long until the other members of their group begin to be dropped off by their parents-- including Mike who was allowed to go under a guest ticket with Bev. They all look incredibly mature and so unlike the rambunctious bunch Maggie is used to seeing around her house. 

Maggie and the other parents spend an undue amount of time snapping pictures of their dapper looking children until they’re all thoroughly over it and are engaged in their usual behaviors of playful teasing and banter. Eddie and Richie are both laughing at each other and bickering once they lose the capacity to maintain any semblance of elegance. The two look rather nice next to each other; Richie in his navy blue and Eddie in a deep burgundy that compliments the tan he’s already gotten with the sun becoming a more frequent presence in Derry. Maggie is sure to catch a few shots that crop the others out and focuses simply on their usual antics. She’s not certain, but she feels they’ll hold some relevance at some point in the two’s future. 

Finally, Bev speaks up and announces that they should probably get going. The other parents bid their farewells to their own children before returning to their own cars. Sonia attempts to coax Eddie into riding with her, but he isn’t having it.  _ Good for him _ , Maggie thinks to herself. Martha leads the way out to their separate cars. In Maggie’s car, she has herself, Went, Richie, Stan, and Bill. Martha is driving Ben, Bev, Eddie, and Mike.

Stan, Bill, and Richie are chatting among themselves and continue their conversation up until they approach the school parking lot which is rather packed with other parents tearfully dropping off their children for their last significant moment before they are set to finish middle school and become high schoolers. Maggie has long since developed the ability to hold back her motherly feelings until her son is out of sight. 

They all get out of the cars and scatter together, smiling for one last picture for both Martha and Maggie before waving them off as they head toward the school gymnasium. 

“We’ll be back by 10:30!” Martha calls out to them.

“Sounds good!” Bev shouts back, throwing an arm around Stan and Bill as they walk away. Eddie, being the shortest, struggles to keep up to an extent and whether he’s holding onto Richie’s sleeve to keep up or because he’s too nervous to do something more, Maggie is uncertain. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a spicy attempt. Accept me as the trashcan I am. Thank you. Also let it be known that the bullying in regards to Richie's believed (and factual) sexuality will not go away. I'm (spoiler?) incorporating it as a reason as to why Richie eventually leaves Derry and then ends up being a repressed adult again. Just so me making Richie a sad fuck doesn't seem purposeless atm. It goes somewhere. Whether I do it successfully and with justice is another thing. Have minimal faith in my ass, kids. 
> 
> I can't stop listening to Buttercup by Jack Stauber. Go listen! Go jam! Hate it! Like it! IDK!
> 
> Social isolation/distancing is really hard on mental health. Be kind to ya friends with depression, anxiety, EDs, etc. This time fucking sucks. Be a decent person. Some people can't get their medication right now. Some people are falling into toxic isolation habits which worsens depression. Some people are driven to panic attacks by the persistent negativity on the news. Some people are panicked by the concept of rationing and are engaging in restrictive/binging habits Some people aren't mentally okay even -if they have a seemingly easier life now that they may not have to go to work or school. People are social beings and this period is extremely detrimental and hurtful in numerous ways. Don't be a dick. If you are struggling, I feel you on that but don't break the rules kids. Stay healthy. Flatten the curve. Take care of yourself as much as you can during this shitty time period. 
> 
> RE Trash getting me through this period still. They added another part and I was ROLLING. 
> 
> Richie made a video to sweet victory from Spongebob celebrating the fact that the United States is #1 in terms of corona cases like a fucking idiot to piss eddie off... jk I did that on TikTok and only got 300 views while my one video keeps going up from 800k when I put forth 0 effort or humor into. shit blows. fuck. where's my verification? gosh.
> 
> Stay healthy kids. Look after yourself and your friends!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE'S A DECENT CHAPTER! haha jk April Fools! 
> 
> This is a VERY short chapter! It's probably shorter than my half-assed discussion posts for school. Lmao. This is brought to you by my own shitty mental state, depressing playlists, and a desire for Eddie Kaspbrak to be fuckin LOVED by the Toziers because he's their honorary son(in-law). Jk. I love him. I also put this one in as a spacer in between other events that are to come that are just self-indulgent Reddie content and high school insanity.
> 
> TW for discussions of anxiety and emotional abuse in this one. I am not trying to romanticize anxiety in any shape or form here nor am I trying to make it "entertainment." Eddie has been through a lot of trauma so him having anxiety/anxiety attacks is a surprise to no one. Also, anxiety is not just rocking back and forth crying. It can be sitting quietly and not moving, hitting yourself to feel "grounded," snapping at anyone within a 2 foot radius for breathing louder than your over-stimulated brain wants, and so many other things. It shows itself different in everyone... and it's equally draining regardless of how you experience it. Your experiences are valid even if they may not align with what is typically presented. Literally everything I just said is fucking textbook but media only accepts the very "obvious" symptoms which is bullshit. Also, if you find yourself still loving someone that is/has been abusive to you (i.e., a family member) there is nothing wrong with that. Some people can grow to hate the person and some cannot. There is nothing wrong with doing either of the two. One doesn't make you mean and one doesn't make you weak. Everyone feels differently. However you instinctively handle something is usually what is best for YOU. 
> 
> sorry am ranting. I am extremely passionate about mental health and would never try to portray any struggle as something desirable. If I inadvertently do so, it is solely reflective on my writing ability (or lack thereof) and not how I think of disorder(s).
> 
> I hope this is okay even though it is shorter than the class of 2020s senior year. I'm having big ass doubt feels because my brain is big sad rn.

Maggie knew that Eddie’s real home was with them.

**July 1990**

Even when she was pregnant, Maggie was wildly nervous about whether or not she was capable of being a good mother. She felt  _ right  _ as a mother in that the minute she figured out she was pregnant she knew it was something she had subconsciously always wanted to be. Went was always there to dispel her fears when she began to question her abilities, but it wasn’t enough to eliminate the feelings that perhaps she was failing Richie in various facets of his life. It wasn’t like she could ask Richie to give her a hand-written review on how she was doing as a mother and rate her on a scale from one to ten and submit the form for a chance to win a month’s supply of bagels or something. 

Maggie knew her son loved her and Went, but sometimes she felt like he was not aware of how much he was loved by  _ them.  _ Richie was riddled by self doubt and anxiety that left him irritable on some days and horribly nauseous on others. He often read into situations far deeper than necessary and that was something that would probably never stop despite the amount of reassurance she attempted to give him on a regular basis. Sometimes it seemed like Richie believed they did not like him or were disappointed in him simply because he was scolded for something or they attempted to approach situations and may not have phrased it in a way that did not strike a nerve with the boy. According to Richie’s doctor, that was normal with boys with ADHD-- the revised diagnosis he had received at his most recent wellness check. 

Maggie truly doubted her abilities on most days especially given her inadvertent shortcomings in parenting Richie in the past. She had failed to notice his pisspoor eyesight, wrongly medicated him for a month, and sometimes never knew how to adequately handle the trouble that seemed to follow him like a moth to a flame. She did love him with every bit of her being. She truly wanted to understand her son but sometimes it felt like there was a barrier that only grew as he got older. 

However, despite these flaws that she would always feel some sort of guilt for, she knew she had created a safe haven within their home not only for her son, but his friends as well. That was something that became increasingly obvious the older the kids got and the more they frequented the Tozier household anytime they were not at school, the quarry, or the Clubhouse. They were over so much that Maggie and Went had rearranged their pantry so that there could be an entire shelf dedicated to the other Losers that was  _ always  _ well-stocked with their favorite snacks; especially Eddie who despite standing up to his mother was not permitted to eat some of his more sugary favorites at home. She always had extra blankets and sheets at the ready in the linen closet for whenever some of the Losers felt like sleeping on their couch or with Richie in his room-- as Bev and Eddie typically did. 

They were all extremely open with her and Went and weren’t afraid to joke around with the two of them. They were never reserved as she knew Richie tended to be around most of their parents. Maggie was always surprised to hear from the others’ parents about how “well-behaved” and “mature” her son was. She would always laugh and ask if they had the right kid over that day because Richie was always loud and into trouble anywhere else. She supposes she has to be thankful that Richie limits his misbehavior to their house and around town. His friends seemed to be at ease around her and Went and that was something that truly made her happy. Their house was a source of comfort to them; although she knew that for the most part, they each had fairly decent home lives. 

Stan’s mom and dad, although rather strict, especially in comparison to her and Went, were incredibly loving and went out of their way to always look out for Stan’s best interest at heart. Ben’s mother, while somewhat caught in the act of babying him incessantly, was a kind woman that made the most of being a freshly divorced mother that hadn’t even lived in Derry for a full year. Bill’s parents were slowly returning to a state of normalcy after having spent most of the prior year riddled by depression and sorrow as a result of losing their youngest son-- which was understandable. Anyone to lose a child would likely experience a drop in their general parenting capabilities when struggling with such an intensive loss. 

Mike’s parents were obviously out of the picture. His grandfather was a kind man that clearly loved Mike. However, it was quite evident that he was not particularly impressed with his grandson’s desire to no longer be regarded as a social outcast. He believed hanging with friends to be a mere interference upon more important things like maintaining their farm. Maggie believed all children should have friends but she could see where the elderly man was coming from. However, when he was at their place, she ensured that he could have a moment where he was simply a kid since he had been forced to grow up so fast.

Bev was an obvious victim of various forms of abuse. The extent of it was unknown to most of the Losers and Maggie. She has her suspicions as to what exactly Alvin Marash had done to the girl and it was enough to give her nightmares. However, Bev did not seem to let her past hold her back. She was lucky enough to have escaped her abuser and was genuinely happy living with her Aunt. She was always a brave girl and the recovery that came with escaping from such a toxic environment was clear to anyone who knew the girl. Her resilience was truly awe inspiring. 

Eddie’s homelife was one that was typically overlooked in terms of the severity of what he was and is still put through-- primarily by himself. His abuse, while not as obvious as Bev's, was still severe. It was one that was caused by a conniving, manipulative mother who concealed her harmful nature with a false kindness and warped concern for her son that came out of a sickened mind. She saw no flaw with the way she had tricked him for years and it showed in her continued attempts to convince the poor boy that he was weak. That he was sick. That he was small and could not live in a world without her hovering over his shoulder. 

Eddie had managed to break free from the incessant lies and no longer allowed himself to be force fed sugar pills among the various other lies the woman had planted in his once impressionable mind. However, Sonia was relentless and was always attempting to dig her poisonous claws back into her son’s mind and convince him that he was sick and was betraying her by not letting her care for him in the way that she wanted him to feel like he needed to be. It was a struggle. Maggie knew that much. She knew it was something that would creep upon the boy for years to come. Old habits die hard and the ones Sonia caused constantly tried to dig their way up from the grave and put a hold on any potential recovery Eddie had made. 

And that is why he showed up at the Tozier house one humid night, wearing fuzzy slippers, in pajamas, and face stricken with panic. It was just after eleven and Maggie and Went were snuggled together on the couch, watching a movie. Richie had gone to bed early as he decided it was smart to swim all day with his friends without any sunscreen and had popped some Benadryl in combination with Ibuprofen in order to alleviate the pain by knocking himself out. You can’t possibly feel the sizzling of burnt skin if you’re essentially comatose. Richie, never one to admit to his idiotic actions, insisted that a coat of sunscreen would have prevented him from receiving the “essential Vitamin D” he  _ needed  _ from the sun. Clearly, he’d had an overdose.

It was a relatively calm evening once their son called it a night for himself. Typically, the three of them would spend nights either talking over movies or calling each other out for cheating at some card game. Instead, she is half listening to a movie as sleep starts to weigh on her lids whilst resting her head in Went’s lap as he mindlessly plays with her hair as she traces circles around his hairy knees. The calm is soon disrupted by a few gentle knocks at the door which made her feel reasonably scared. 

“Maybe just let it go?” Went suggests, halting the easy movement of his fingers.

She sits up, and waits for a moment before a few more raps at the door triggers something inside of her. She gets up and Went grabs her hand for a second.

“Do you want me to get it?” He whispers. There’s not a lot of trust for the outsider world in them after the summer of ‘89. The door is unlocked as they have always done before children began disappearing last summer. They returned to their ways not long after Bowers was arrested. Anyone who really knew the Toziers wouldn’t knock… nor would they be at their door this late in the night. 

“No…” She tells him, creeping toward the door and peeling back the curtain of a window to see who it could be. Without the porch lights on, she can just make out a dark figure. The person is obviously male, short, and tense. She quickly realizes that it’s Eddie, so she goes to the door and opens it to reveal a trembling Eddie Kaspbrak. “Eddie?” She says calmly as she takes in the tear-tracks on his freckled face and the quivering of his jaw.

“I-Is Rich… I’m sorry.” He stammers, fingers going through his hair. “I don’t know why I came… I can go.”

“No, no sweetie. Come in.” Maggie urges, gently guiding him in. Went stands up and grabs a blanket off of the loveseat and quickly places it around the young teen’s shoulders as they help him to their couch. 

“I’m really sorry. I just had nowhere to go.” Eddie manages, his breath thinning and caught in the back of his throat. 

“You always have here to come to, sweetie.” Maggie informs him, rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades. 

“Is Richie here?” he asks quietly. “I don’t want to bother you guys. I’m sorry.”

“He’s asleep, kiddo.” Went informs him. “You’re never a bother, though. I can get him though if that would make you more comfortable.”

“I-I don’t know.” Eddie manages, tears starting to flow from his eyes, hands tugging at his hair which Maggie slowly pulls away with her free hand. 

“What’s happening, sweetheart?” She asks him with a tender voice.

“My mom… she… I don’t know. She’s trying to make me…  _ FUCK _ .” He suddenly snaps, anger overpowering the despair he just previously exhibited. 

Maggie feels her own anger flare when he brings up his mother. She maintained her composure. “It’s okay. Take your time, honey.”

“She’s just psycho.” He seethes as tears of frustration roll down his face. “She’s gotten me back on some of my old m-medication recently and I felt like I felt better?”

“Are they--” Went starts to ask if the medication is real, concern heavy in his eyes.

“No. They’re  _ fake  _ and I knew they were when I took them!” He growls, rubbing furiously at his eyes, his body quaking under Maggie’s gentle touch. “I know I’m not any  _ healthier  _ than I was before them and it’s all in my stupid head! I just… I want to believe her because she’s my mom and I want to think I can trust her again but I--” and his voice breaks off and he’s shaking as sobs begin to wrack his body.

“Hey, it’s okay sweetie.” Maggie says gently, pulling him close to her in a way she’s done with Richie since he was small. It’s not any different to her. 

“I can’t breathe.” He gasps in between sobs, pulling himself away from her and grabbing into the pocket of his PJ pants. He uncaps an inhaler and puffs on it violently, eyes wide and hand unsteady as he holds it to his lips. 

“Grab him some water.” Maggie insists. Eddie continues to choke on his own breathing and grabs furiously at his own fingers, his knuckles cracking with his force and fingers growing red as his nails repeatedly scratch against his skin. She wants to get him to stop, but she can tell he’s making an attempt to bring himself back down and although it’s not the healthiest method, it does appear to be working as he quickly takes another puff of the water vapor inhaler and releases a slightly more even breath.

“It’s okay. You’re doing fine.” Maggie whispers calmly. 

“Here you go.” Went hands over a cup with a straw which Eddie eagerly accepts and begins sipping slowly before returning the glass to Went who sets it down on an empty coaster. 

Once he starts breathing again he looks angry again. “I’m so fucking stupid. It’s fake. I know it is but I feel like it helps.”

“Then it’s not stupid.” Went tells him. 

“But she… she made me think I need it. I don’t. I shouldn’t. I’m letting her win.”

“Engaging in the behaviors you’ve been taught by her is not letting her win. You’ve acknowledged what she did to you and you’ve fought back so much this past year, sweetie.” Maggie attempts to reassure him but she can tell her words are barely skimming the surface of the endless trauma he’s been wrongly victim to. “She’s at fault here and none of what she does is any reflection of you. It only shows how brave you are because you are fighting back.”

Went nods in agreement. “You coming over here and not staying there is fighting back, Eddie.” He laughs a little. “After all, she  _ hates  _ us so I think this itself is quite the testament to how tough you are.” 

Eddie shakes his head and Maggie moves to hold him once more but sets her hands down as he gives an involuntary, whole-body flinch. “I know nothing is wrong with me but I know that could change any day… and I-I keep thinking that today is the day where everything she has said is true now and I can’t make it stop.”

Maggie nods in understanding. “That’s expected, honey. You can’t expect yourself to be over it right away.”

“But it’s been a year!” Eddie says desperately. “I should know better. I’m fourteen and I still want to believe everything my  _ mommy  _ says.” His tone as he refers to Sonia is full of venom. It saddens Maggie that he regards himself as “too old” to be scared or to want to trust his mother. He’s merely a child and has been through too much too fast. He  _ should  _ be able to trust his mother. He should not have such an unscrupulous woman with extremely unethical parenting skills as a mother. 

“And she’s done this to you for your whole life Eddie.” Went states. “You can’t undo everything that fast. You can’t put this on you.”

“But I know it’s wrong and I still let her do it and I still fall for it.” He bites his lip raw, hands trembling as he stares down at the floor unable to meet either of their eyes anymore. 

“You’ve made a lot of progress in trying not to do what she wants and just because you slip up doesn’t mean anything bad on your part. She’s trying to manipulate you again and that’s her being sick. Not you.” Maggie explains, her voice soft and slow. 

“I just want it to stop. I want to be able to trust her and not have to fight her.” Eddie mumbles sadly. “I want…” He rubs at his face and doesn’t say anything else; but ‘ _ this’  _ goes unspoken as he briefly glimpses around the comfortable living space. 

The Tozier home is open arms, nurturing words, and healthy communication skills. It’s hot summer days spent by the pool, splashing away and nights spent curled up on the couch munching on popcorn or cracking cheesy jokes. It’s never feeling guilty for having a voice and attempting to mitigate any doubts that may rage in one’s mind. It’s loving, kind, and one that warrants a healthy growth. The Kaspbrak home is one where the blinds on the windows might as well be prison bars and one with dim lights, fear that was entirely encouraged, and unnecessary pill bottles scattered across a kitchen that was never used to make comfort food but instead food that was aggressively healthy and had next to no flavor. It was a home where one was designed to feel small as Eddie currently and had felt for the majority of his life. It was a toxic environment that no child should have to endure. 

“I know.” Maggie whispers to him. “You shouldn’t have to go through that. I’m sorry, honey.”

“I can’t just leave either. I’m fourteen and I...I don’t know how to live without her and that’s where she  _ is  _ right.”

“She isn’t, though. She wants you to  _ think  _ that.” Went tells him. 

“Well it’s working pretty well.” He mumbles, defeated.

“She has put you through a lot, Eddie. You can’t put this on yourself. You’re recovering from  _ abuse. _ ”

“But I’m no--” Eddie attempts to protest, clearly startled by the use of such a strong word.

“Emotional abuse.” Maggie interrupts. “Her manipulating you and convincing you all these things  _ is _ emotional abuse. Just because you’re not bruised and bloody doesn’t mean you aren’t being hurt, honey. I know that’s scary to accept but what she did and is trying to do is wrong.” 

“I know.” He sighs. “I just don’t want to see it that way because I love her.”

“It’s okay to still love her. You probably always will, but that doesn’t make what she’s done and is continuing to do okay. You know that right?”

“I think so.” Eddie admits quietly, wiping away any stray tears. “I’m sorry for coming so late.”

“Don’t be.” Went says easily. “You’re always welcome here.”

Maggie nods in earnest. “We want to be here for you through this, sweetheart.” She slowly moves toward him, gauging the level of tension in his body as she approaches him before enveloping him in her arms. “You’re such a brave young man, Eddie. I’m sorry she does to you.” She presses a motherly kiss to the top of his head and cannot help but notice the way the boy melts into her touch, one that is unlike his mother’s imprisoning touch.

“Thank you.” He manages around a choked voice. “I really appreciate everything.”

“It’s nothing.” Went insists.

Eddie gives a small smile. “I can head home now. I think… I think I’ll be okay.”

Maggie shakes her head. “You’re always home here, Eddie. Stay here tonight.”

“But my mom...”

“Would have a fit if she knew you walked home this late at night.” Went says and no one can argue with that. “I’ll leave a voicemail here soon. You just stay here tonight and as long as you want tomorrow.”

“You can sleep down here or in Richie’s room if you’d like.” Maggie strokes his hair back, already certain of his answer.

“I think I’ll go upstairs. Thank you again for helping me.” Eddie tells them. 

“You help yourself enough as is.” Maggie gives him a half smile. “If Richie is hogging his bed, don’t be afraid to smack his back. Kid’s a lobster.”

“ _ I  _ told him to wear sunscreen!” Eddie groans, his hand coming down in a quick karate chop motion. 

Went snorts. “I’m sure you did. Do you need anything else?”

“I think I’ll be okay.” He’s still pale and clearly shaken up. His eyes are bloodshot and will certainly be swollen when he wakes up tomorrow and his hands will be irritated from his incessant scratching. It is likely that he will spend most of tomorrow worn out and exhausted from the residual anxiety that still boils below the surface. However, he looks significantly better than how he did when he first came to their door. 

Maggie gives him one last hug. “Get some sleep, honey. We’ll see you in the morning and if you need anything else, we’re right down the hall from Richie’s room.” 

Eddie nods and says, “Okay. Thank you and goodnight Mr. and Mrs. Tozier.” He heads up the stairs and once they hear the sound of Richie’s door squeak open and close quietly, Maggie turns to Went

“Poor kid.” Maggie sighs. “That Sonia Kaspbrak is something else.” 

“I know. I should leave that voicemail though… so she doesn’t have a meltdown tomorrow.”

“She’s going to just knowing he’s with  _ us. _ ” Maggie huffs. “Doesn’t matter though. Make sure she knows she’s a fucking bitch.”

“I will  _ not _ be doing that but I will let her know she is perhaps the least qualified and most undeserving person of being a mother to Eddie.”

“That works too, I suppose.” Maggie snorts. “I love that boy like he’s my own.”

“He’s a good kid. I mean he  _ could _ be ours if Ric--”

“Went shut up, call her, and then come to bed with me.” Maggie groans, giving him a slightly rough kiss to the lips. She cannot help but possess the same hopefulness.

“If you insist, Mags.” He chortles. “I wonder why he thought Richie would be the one to answer the door this late.”

“Maybe he didn’t.” Maggie considers. “I think he kind of wanted to talk to us and open up to someone else. Richie’s good about being there for him but Eddie… he’s really reserved about his mother.”

“I think so too.” Went agrees. “I’m going to make that call. I’ll be up soon, honey.”

“I’ll see you soon.” Maggie heads up the stairs, saddened for Eddie but also somewhat comforted that this boy trusts them so much to seek solace with them as opposed to someone else. She truly loves the kid and maybe she cannot be the  _ perfect _ parent to her child at all times, but she knows she is a safe place not only for Richie but for his friends as well. She knows how to comfort them and how to assuage their fears.

_ CRACK!  _ The sound of skin on skin.

“OW!” A sleep-filled voice hollers from beyond Richie’s door. “What the-- Eds?”

“Move over, asshole.” Eddie grumbles and there’s a few sounds of the bed squeaking under the movement before a blissful silence once again fills the house. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made an attempt. sorry if attempt was weak. It's a v short one-shot and I'm big nervous but it's fine. roast me.
> 
> Also i know it is looked down upon to use Benadryl to sleep. I don't condone it. My parents used to give it to my older brother on Christmas Eve when he refused to go to bed though... which I think is kind of iconic? 
> 
> I've said this before and I'll say it again: flatsound writes music that is exclusively Reddie. "i'm broken but i'll try" is literally the biggest ow of my existence but it fits Eddie so fucking well? 
> 
> Day 16(?) of quarantine. still not tiktok famous. bitter. I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy right now! Things kinda blow right now but continue being there for yourself and your friends/family. You got this! Also quarantine is not hanging alone with someone new each day. Be smart. Stop touching your cute face. Wash your hands. 
> 
> Richie wants to leave the house to go to target because he's a SLUT for target. Eddie said no. They ordered their groceries. Richie is sulking. He has been deprived of a Target adventure. :(


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one that really pisses me off. Idk. It serves absolutely zero purpose and gives the story absolutely nothing to be quite honest. But did this fic ever have a plot to begin with? This just focuses on the fact that boys can be insecure with little anecdotes surrounding it bc full stories? I can't do that. Insecurities are valid in all genders of all sizes. also is this just an excuse for Maggie to catch Eddie crushing after her son? idk is it? 
> 
> yes. it fuckin is. pine u little shits.
> 
> i hope this meets your mcfuckin standards. if not. idk dude. i tried. im barely a person.

Maggie knew Richie didn’t see himself the way someone else did. 

**November 1990**

Richie was a master of putting up a guise of confidence, especially when he was around his friends. Maggie and Went knew him to be extremely self-conscious and full of doubt ever since he was capable of vocalizing such qualms. He masked these emotions in the form of jokes Maggie wished she  _ never  _ had to hear as his mother since more often than not it was about his master abilities in the bedroom (typically with Eddie’s mom) or the appearance and size of his private parts. He constantly boasted about how wickedly handsome he was in front of his friends, to the point where they would be forced to “beep” him or give a half-hearted snark back at him. The Losers seemed none the wiser as to how insecure Richie really was. However, Maggie and Went were more than aware of how self-conscious their son actually was and how his tendency to be worrisome about his appearance had only gotten worse as he went through the throes of puberty.

Since the start of his freshman year, Richie had gone through a plethora of changes as expected of a boy in high school. He had shot up rather significantly in height and was showing absolutely no signs of stopping. He had just surpassed Bill’s 5’7” and now stood as the tallest member of the group right next to Mike. It was becoming somewhat obvious that Bill had been an early bloomer and would soon plateau--if he hadn’t already-- in comparison to Richie who had Maggie and Went’s genes to allow him to stretch out into a real-life Gumby. Maggie knew it was only going to get worse with his progression into his later teens, but she could already feel the damage in her wallet as he went through shoes, clothes, and food like no other. 

Richie’s metabolism was constantly in high gear and despite his remarkable growth in height, he remained ridiculously skinny despite the fact that he would go through a pack of Oreos within a day and eat raw cookie dough with a spoon, not caring about the risk of salmonella that Eddie often warned him about. Richie insisted that if he was going to go, death by raw cookie dough was the optimal way out.

Despite his boundless appetite, he was stick-thin to the point where Sonia Kaspbrak felt it was her responsibility to inform Maggie that she was clearly starving her son when she came over once to pick Eddie up after a sleepover earlier in the school year.

Normally, Maggie would have just taken Eddie home or the boy would have simply walked or biked home, but he had a dental appointment that was actually scheduled under Went’s recommendation and not under Sonia’s own paranoia. Usually, Went didn’t work weekends but he always went out of his way to schedule appointments for his family, Richie’s friends, and their parents on weekends so that they could avoid sitting in the stuffy waiting room. He also tended to waive the charges or at least provide some sort of discount. 

Richie had been the one to answer the door, in nothing but spiderman pajama pants that were far too short on his long legs. This left his scrawny torso and the lavender stretch marks, stark against his pale skin that began lining his spine and hips as a result of his rapid growth, visible to the scrutiny of Eddie’s mother. 

Maggie had been feeding the two boys breakfast when there was a heavy rapping upon the door that could only belong to the fists of one dastardly woman. Maggie moved to leave her seat across from where Eddie and Richie were inhaling some pancakes, but Richie beat her to it as he grabbed a dry flapjack and stuffed half of it in his mouth. She desperately did not want him causing anything with the mouth of his that seemed to get progressively worse with each passing moment, but she could not beat him to it.

“Goddammit, Richard.” Maggie groans, tightening her robe around her waist. 

“I’ll hurry and get my stuff together.” Eddie tells her, politely swallowing his current mouthful before speaking as she moves to follow her terror of a son.

“Finish eating first. Went won’t care if you’re late.” Maggie insists, following her son who is currently talking to Sonia at the door about the benefits of a nudist society with a fruit bartering system.  _ Jesus Christ.  _ “Richie!” she scolds, coming from behind her son who she still manages to be just a slither taller than. It won’t last. She knows that for sure. 

“I was just telling Sonia about how we could use peaches as currency for prosti--”

“That’s enough out of you, Richie.” Maggie turns to Sonia who has a look of disgust clearly on her face. “Sorry Sonia.” She’s not  _ that  _ sorry.

“As you should be.” She sniffs.

“It was good seeing ya Mrs. K.” Richie grins crookedly, ready to go back to tormenting his Eddie Spaghetti.

“Go finish your breakfast.” Maggie tells him, pressing a kiss to his forehead which elicits an extremely unmasculine squawk that cracks in the back of his deepening throat.

Sonia gives a scoff at that and that catches both Richie and Maggie off guard, with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows that are eerily similar. “As if you  _ feed _ the kid.”

“Excuse me?” Maggie snarled, clearly offended.

“What?” Richie seems surprised that he’s actually getting insulted to his face by the woman. He was fully aware that Mrs. K was not a fan of him which is why he rarely went to Eddie’s unless he was sneaking over-- something Maggie and Went knew he did on more than one occasion. Maggie cannot help but think he clearly cannot remember all the times Sonia insinuated that he was the epitome of a problem child right to his face whenever he sat happily in the cart whenever she and him had the misfortune of running into the woman at the grocery store.

“He’s skin and bones, Margaret. You’re clearly starving the kid! You can’t just let him live off junk all the time. He’s probably already got scurvy and diabetes.”

Scurvy? What kind of C-rate Pirate movie was this woman from? 

“I think I’m the pinnacle of health. I’m a muscle-bound God, thank you.” Richie defends, halfheartedly but Maggie knows he’s rather insecure about how skinny he looks, especially with his newfound height. 

“All he does is  _ eat. _ ” Eddie interrupts, wearing one of Richie’s sweatshirts and his own sweatpants that he’d slept in the night before. Maggie notices he didn’t bother to grab his sleepover bag. She already knows he plans on riding back here with Went after his appointment. “He’s just tall, mom. Lay off.” 

Maggie felt a surge of pride for the boy not only for coming to Richie’s defense, but for confidently calling her out with minimal fear glinting in his brown eyes. There was some, but not enough for Sonia to detect as she could not read her son to save her life. She only took the time to find miniscule cracks in him so she could break at them and turn him into her own paranoid pawn. 

“Not all mothers know how to care for their boys like your mommy d--”

“Mom, quit it. Mrs. Tozier does fine with Richie. It’s not her fault he’s a real-life spaghetti noodle with zero impulse control. Lets just go. Dr. Tozier is waiting for us.” Eddie bit back, maintaining a surprising amount of composure. Maggie was thankful he took the wheel on the situation because she was genuinely boiling inside; not only at the fact that she was insinuating she was a bad mother, but that she was degrading her son’s appearance right in front of  _ him _ .

“Thank you for coming, Eddie.” 

“See you later, Eds?” Richie asks, a weak smile on his face.

“Don’t call me that Richie.” He groans. “But, yeah. I’ll see you after this!”

“But Eddie-bea--” Sonia starts and is immediately silenced by the glare her son shoots her way. 

Maggie waves them goodbye (but mostly Eddie because Sonia can quite frankly kiss her ass). She then shuts the door, huffs out a breath, muttering obscenities about the woman under her breath. 

“Well, then.” Richie had laughed meekly. 

“Don’t listen to her.” Maggie tells him, ruffling his long hair. “You’re my handsome not-so-little boy.”

“Sorry I make you look like a bad mom.” He attempts to joke but it falls flat. Fucking Sonia. 

“Oh, hush. The day I let what that woman says hold any weight over me, is the day that you and your dad stop making cheesy jokes. Plus, you look like your dad and I did. You’re fine.” She doesn’t add that he’ll lose the metabolism eventually and wish he could be teased for being twiggy again. No need to give him future insecurities to add on the ones he already has in bulk. 

She cocks her head at him for a brief second. “Except you might actually pass up your dad if you keep this up.” She tells him, smiling at him. She feels her heart wrenching however, as she can sense the discomfort brought on by Sonia’s comments radiating off of him. He already felt awkward next to his friends who seemed to grow not nearly as fast as he was and in a more proportional manner.

It also didn’t help that out of all his guy friends, Richie was currently the only one not doing any sports. Bill and Stan were still heavily involved in baseball, Mike got enough exercise on the farm and it certainly showed in the strong lines in his arms, Ben was in football in the fall (which helped him lose a rather decent amount of weight) and was contemplating joining the track team in the coming spring, and Eddie had been part of the track team (unbeknownst to his mother) since eighth grade and was going to continue his running career in both the winter and spring seasons. 

Richie, although he had proved himself to be coordinated and capable of some athleticism as a child, did not seem interested in participating in sports. He did not enjoy the idea of a middle-aged coach berating him to run faster or to knock over another player like a neanderthal. Richie’s interests were more artistic in nature. He enjoyed doodling in his free time and theater. He and Bev were already working to audition together for a part in the school’s spring performance. They both were under the assumption they would get an ensemble part at best, but they were excited nonetheless. Maggie was glad he had a passion for  _ something  _ and theater seemed to genuinely suit him but it did not necessarily bode well with the body-related insecurities that she knew her son held.

With his form getting progressively ganglier, it became even harder for Richie to dress his awkwardly shaped body. He, as Bev had pointed out numerous times, never had any sense of style but it was obvious that it had somehow managed to spiral into something even more questionable than it had been before he was put through the Willy Wonka Taffy Puller. All of his shirts were far too big because Richie clearly did not know his size but despite the way that they hung on him like a parachute, they still managed to fall too short and would expose a sliver of skin when he stretched his gargantuan arms over his head. His jeans were often too short but he masked the fact that they were high waters by cuffing them and wearing obnoxiously patterned socks that Stan had given him during their last Loser Club Secret Santa to cover his bony ankles. 

The patterns of his socks would not be so heinous if it weren’t for the fact that Richie always liked to clash the patterns of the brightly colored socks with his own shirts that featured extremely loud designs. Truly, their son was nothing but a fashion disaster and he did not seem to mind that most of his clothes were a total eyesore with the exception of a slightly oversized, color blocked windbreaker that Bev and Eddie had gotten for him on his birthday. That was the one item in his wardrobe that suggested that Richie did not actually buy all of his clothes from a second-hand store that only accepted shirts from retired old men. 

Richie was not particularly self-conscious in regards to his nonexistent fashion taste, but Maggie knew he was bothered by the way most clothes sat on him which is why he stuck to shapeless items despite Bev’s insistence that he looked better in more fitted items. He wasn’t about to flash his body around and settled on wearing oversized sweaters and mismatched button-downs with too-short jeans. To an untrained eye, it just looked like Richie was just an idiot in regards to tasteful style-- which was only a half truth. He truly had no eye for fashion, but a big reason as to why he dressed so poorly was to hide himself. 

He had also started hiding his smile more and more with the new addition of his braces. He used to smile big and wide, flashing off all of his pearly white, crooked teeth in earnest. That was one thing Richie was extremely anal about: dental hygiene. It was definitely a result of him being the son of a dentist and Maggie was truly thankful that he had adopted such ritualistic behavior when it came to taking care of the teeth in his mouth. Richie had expressed genuine surprise when he was around his friends and discovered that most people actually  _ lie  _ when they tell their dentist (which was his dad for all of his friends) about flossing. 

“MOM! DAD!” Richie had hollered out once when the Losers were over for a sleepover.

Maggie and Went had been putting away the dishes the seven kids had gone through before getting themselves dressed for bed and settled on the couch and on the floor in front of the TV. Their concern was piqued by the exasperated tone in their son’s voice so they were quick to abandon what they were doing.

“What’s going on?” Went said immediately, shoulders tight for a moment before noticing everything seemed relatively okay. The kids were lounging about, snickering at Richie who seemed to be the only one in a state of distress as Bev played with his messy hair.

“DID YOU KNOW PEOPLE LIE WHEN THEY TELL YOU THEY FLOSS?” Richie had asked, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“Well, yeah.” Went snorts. “I’m trained to be able to tell that and I already know  _ none _ of these kids floss.” 

“THEY DON'T’!” Richie informs him. “NONE OF THEM FLOSSED JUST NOW BEFORE COMING DOWN HERE! I EVEN GAVE THEM SOME AND THEY  _ LAUGHED  _ AT ME!” 

“You’re the only one that flosses at sleepovers, Richie.” Mike laughs.

“BILL WASN’T EVEN GOING TO BRUSH HIS TEETH.” 

“I was. I just wanted more popcorn.” Bill shrugs.

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT GINGIVITIS DOES TO YOU? YOU’RE ALL GOING TO LOSE ALL YOUR FUCKING TEETH. DAD! WHAT THE FUCK?”

“Rich, it’s fine. I mean I wish they would. How… how did you not know this before?”

“I always assumed they flossed when they went in the bathroom to change but they just told me  _ everyone  _ lies about flossing!” 

“I mean I floss sometimes.” Ben giggles.

“Not enough.” Went told the boy bluntly. 

“You guys are disgusting.” Richie gags.

“Says the kid that didn’t wash his hair for a week.” Stan snorts.

“Letting your natural oils out is good for your hair, Staniel.” Richie hisses.

“Which is why your hair looks  _ so  _ good all the time.” Stan rolls his eyes.

“I think Richie has nice hair.” Eddie says honestly. “It looks good now that he’s letting it get long.”

“Unlike that stupid bowl cut.” Bev giggles.

“IT WAS NOT A--- This is not about my hair.” Although he had definitely blushed at Eddie’s comment. “This is about you guys having  _ shitty  _ dental hygiene.” 

Given his tenacity for dental hygiene, Richie had phenomenal teeth sans the fact that they came in completely crooked and his front ones jutted forward. He was lucky to have inherited Maggie’s fuller lips and not Went’s thinner ones, otherwise they would have been completely bucked out over his lips. He’d never once had a cavity despite the fact that his diet was largely composed of sugary snacks and other things that should have worn away his enamel by now. He was lucky solely because he was rather particular about managing his teeth. Given the impeccable state of his teeth, Richie was always one to flash an overstretched grin.

Now, however, not so much. Went knew the kid would need braces since he was a child and they’d been set to put them on for quite a while. It was back around Halloween when they finally got them put on which had been a bummer once the holiday came around and he was not allowed to eat a majority of the sweets that were allergy-friendly. After getting them on, Richie was no longer keen on giving an open-mouth smile. He settled for a closed one where his lips puckered outward slightly from the metal that rubbed the inside of his lips absolutely raw. He still talked their ears off, but he was incredibly self-conscious about the lisp he had developed. 

It was something that was disheartening to witness. Richie always had a nice smile, in Maggie’s opinion. Perhaps it wasn’t an aesthetically pleasing one that belonged in a toothpaste commercial, but it was a contagious one that brightened his entire face. Now, he did anything to not show off the metal tracks in his mouth. Maggie did not think they would bother him as much as they did and it was something she wished he could have done without. To make matters worse, Richie was stuck wearing headgear at night which had proved to make sleepovers somewhat of a nightmare. 

He tried talking his way out of wearing them when his friends were over because although the Losers meant well, they were best friends and best friends teased each other. Relentlessly. And Richie was not one to speak up and say where his personal line was drawn. If they were aware of how insecure he was behind the mask he put forth, they would not so much glance at the wires in his mouth. Richie was never going to voice this to his friends.

Unfortunately, Went was not about to let Richie compromise his treatment-- especially because more often than not, Richie was having friends sleepover-- and instead, settled for snapping his headgear at any given chance which simply drove Went up the wall and had made the cost of Richie’s braces treatment increase dramatically with the constant replacements they had to make. Maggie had a feeling the orthodontist would soon just give up on the headgear which is precisely what Richie was aiming to do. She’d attempted to talk him out of his destructive tendencies, but it was pointless as when Richie was set on something, he was set on it. 

Richie’s stubborn nature did not stop with his maltreatment toward his braces but went on to his incessant skin picking. It was an overnight development. One night Richie went to bed with baby soft, freckled skin and woke up with a severe case of cystic acne around his jaw and cheeks and all around his hairline. He was constantly holed up in the bathroom, digging his overgrown, raggedy nails into zits and trying to pop the painful bumps-- despite the fact that Maggie and Went had both told him countless times that it was bad for his skin and would later cause severe scarring. He didn’t seem to give a single fuck and continued his picking. He’d also continued to grow his curly hair out longer and tended to wear it in a manner where it covered his forehead and jaw as much as possible. This was truly counterproductive in nature as his hair which collected oil like no other, only served to make things worse for his sensitive skin.

Richie had adopted a rather strict skincare regime and was constantly scrubbing his skin raw. He was extremely bothered by this development and yes, he wasn’t the only one of his friends who now had acne, but Maggie herself, biased and always willing to raise Richie up on a pedestal, could say his was hands down the worst-- but that was expected. Her and Went admittedly had rather severe acne in their teens so it was a surprise to neither of them when Richie got his so suddenly. They both understood how frustrating it was but Richie was hellbent that having zitty skin as a teenager was somehow a unique experience that only he could understand. 

He had begged them incessantly to have him put on accutane as he knew a handful of kids that were on the drug and already rid of their spots. However, this was simply out of the question for Richie. He had recently been formally diagnosed with an anxiety disorder not long ago when he got violently ill just before he was supposed to give a presentation with Stan for their Honors History class. Richie was always content to raise his hand and speak during class-- but something about giving a full-blown report, especially with his new lisp, had his heart palpitating, hands clammy, and stomach turning. 

Maggie had been called from work to come pick up her son, who ended up being exempt from the project as Stan offered to give the report on his own and was okay with Richie taking his portion of the credit. This hadn’t been the first time she had been forced to get him after he was made physically ill from anxious thoughts. She had lost count of how many times she’d picked him up in previous years but this was a turning point for her. She was usually one to let Richie have a say in what he did with himself, but this time did not listen to his insistence that he was okay, and forced him to a doctor. It wasn’t normal that he was always sick and she knew for years he had a problem with panicking ceaselessly and it was time that he recognized this too. 

To no one’s surprise, the doctor informed Richie that he had anxiety and his tendency to be irritable and have GI trouble was directly correlated with his brain’s inability to handle stress in a healthy manner and a lack of rationalization in regards to worrying thoughts. It had been suggested that he be started on a class of SSRIs, but Richie was not necessarily up to the idea of being medicated and given his history, Maggie was not set on starting him on anything when he was still so young. She’d read plenty of the detrimental side effects antianxiety drugs had on teens and decided it might be better when his body was experiencing so many hormonal changes and his brain was in a slightly more stable place in regards to his development. 

Until then, Richie had agreed to meet up with his school counselor at least every two weeks for a forty-minute meeting to discuss what was on his mind and to release his brain of the pent-up worries in his over-stimulated brain. Maggie would prefer he see a therapist since she knew that Richie would hold back to anyone he spoke to, especially someone affiliated with the school. But, at the moment, this was all Richie was willing to agree to and she knew better than to attempt to fight against his stubbornness.

He was not fond of his anxiety diagnosis getting in the way of him getting the “magic pill” for his acne, but once Maggie explained the horror stories of kids who had anxiety or other disorders and went on accutane, Richie seemed more accepting of the idea. Though, he was not happy.

Truly, Richie was not especially fond of the physical changes he was going through. He was gangly, spotty, and a metal-mouth which did not bode well for his already non-existent self-esteem. He was still Richie but it was a somewhat darker Richie. His jokes, while still spitfire and dirty, had taken on a more self-deprecating nature that she really didn’t like to hear out of him. Of course, everyone laughed anytime he made a joke at his own expense because he made sure to mix in a few jokes that suggested he thought he was God’s gift to the Earth. Anything to cover up the fact that he really had a pathetically low opinion of himself.

It was really only around her that he was somewhat honest about how he felt about himself. He never really revealed the extent to which these changes bothered him, but the amount he did disclose to Maggie when Went was at work, was enough to tell Maggie the severity of his cripplingly low self-esteem.

He often would compare himself to others in his friend group-- specifically Eddie. He was frustrated that he was the only one of his friends that needed braces, was stick-thin, and had severe acne. Eddie, in Richie’s opinion, was completely avoiding anything resembling an “awkward stage” as Maggie had called Richie’s physical state as a way to keep him from calling himself ugly or anything more severe. Maggie hated to, but she had to agree with Richie’s lovestruck thinking. Eddie, although clearly not going to be that tall, had stretched out enough to melt away any of the baby fat he still carried in middle school. His participation in track had also helped to give him some definition that was foreign to Richie’s scrawny build. His teeth, as always, were perfectly straight and healthy, and his skin was remarkably clear and seemingly poreless. This did not only drive Richie mad with jealousy, but only served to fuel the crush he had desperately hoped was a temporary thing. 

Clearly, Richie was not aware that he had been subconsciously crushing on the boy since their elementary school days and his feelings were not exclusively limited to when he had officially come to terms with his own sexuality. Maggie wasn’t going to tell him that. He could figure that out on his own or elect to live a lie where he was not positively infatuated with the boy since he first set eyes on him back in kindergarten. 

Eddie had been a great source of comfort to Richie, despite being the source of his jealousy and harbored feelings that drove him into ranting sessions with Bev. He seemed slightly more in tune to Richie’s emotions and managed to see past the front Richie constantly put up. He never teased Richie for his skinny body or his lispy voice where the other Losers might. It was never anything they did with malice, but just something they did as his best friends. They couldn’t sense the insecurities he possessed in regards to his physical appearance. Eddie would still playfully banter with Richie-- that was a staple part to their relationship-- but he never targeted his physical appearance beyond calling him a giant since in comparison to himself, Richie truly seemed like one. 

Eddie also was not one to let Richie handle these feelings on his own. He wasn’t one to laugh when Richie made a self-deprecating joke and always shot him a glare or went as far as scolding him when he made such jokes. 

Currently, the two boys were settled in the kitchen as Maggie made them dinner and were currently engaged in a conversation about their own school-related activities.

“You’ll definitely kick those Bangor brats asses this year, Eds.” Richie teased, his mouth lisping around his ‘s’ sounds. Eddie has been somewhat concerned as to how his season for winter track is going to go this year since he’s only ever participated in the regular spring season.

Eddie shrugs, clearly doubting his own abilities. “I dunno. Winter track is a lot different.”

“How? It’s literally just inside? Wouldn’t that make it easier?”

“No, asshole. The air is stale and the track is shorter which means the curves are sharper which is hard on my knees.”

“Do you need new shoes, sweetie?” Maggie interrupts. She already planned on getting him a new pair for the spring season but she could always stretch a paycheck to get him a pair now.

“No, I’m good! But thank you!” Eddie says. “It’s just a little different.”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll be there cheerin’ you on every meet.” He beams at his friend. Richie wasn’t one to smile much anymore, but he never would hesitate to flash his tin grin at his Eds. 

“What about when theater rehearsals start?” Eddie asks, graciously accepting the bowl of lobster bisque Maggie has made for the two boys. 

Richie shrugs, taking his own bowl. “I can probably manage to miss them. I’ll only get on ensemble or a side character at best.”

“Hey, don’t say that! You deserve to be a lead! Lord knows you’re good enough.”

Richie snorts. “I’m a freshman. That’s not going to happen.”

“They’re not going by seniority with stuff like that, dummy. They care about who is talented which as much as I hate to feed your ego,” Eddie didn’t. He always went out of his way to compliment Richie. “You are one of the most talented people I know.”

“Maybe skilled in the art of pissing people off.”

“I’m trying to be nice to you, you fucking dickhead.” Eddie growls. “Seriously, I think you and Bev will actually get cast as a major role.”

“Bev might.” Richie shrugs. 

“Okay, and why won’t you?”

“Bev’s… Bev.” 

“Thank you for clarifying her name. That really opened my eyes as to why Bev will get a major part and you won’t. You’ve given me all the answers to the universe, Richard.”

Maggie catches the way Richie immediately tenses up, shifting his shoulders and neck awkwardly, the way he does whenever his own insecurities go rampant in his anxiety-ridden brain.

“I mean Bev is really talented.”

“So are you.” Eddie tells him. “Despite being a total beanstalk, you’re surprisingly coordinated and I’ve seen you and Bev read lines together, before. You’re fun to watch.”

Richie laughs feebly. “Uh thanks. I mean, I guess. But Bev is like really… she’s attractive and I’m not. They don’t want someone… that looks like me being a lead.”

Maggie wants to argue with her son upon hearing that but elects to not humiliate him in front of Eddie by gushing over how “handsome” her “little boy” is. 

“Rich… come on…” Eddie says sadly.

“It’s whatever.” Richie shrugs but it’s clearly not  _ “whatever”  _ to Eddie who looks at the boy sadly. “I’m just not the prettiest little thing like you and Bevvy are.” He chuckles and quickly changes the subject into a rant about how his Biology teacher clearly has it out for him because she, in his opinion, wrongly gave him detention for making a dead frog dance on the scalpel during their dissection unit. If he wasn’t so focused on his story and on shoving soup into his mouth, he may have noticed what Maggie noticed: Eddie looked at Richie the way Maggie saw Went look at her in their older candid photos-- like Richie, despite what he thought of himself, was the prettiest thing in the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I think I did a pisspoor job here? Oh yes, kiddos. But whatever. That's business, baby. I hope this was mildly okay. I had the nervous doing this one. It lacks any genuine plot and probably contributes -2 to anything and adds no momentum but it's fine. Self-indulgent Reddie Hours. 
> 
> don't make fun of people for being skinny or heavy or anything pertaining to their physical appearance! it's fucked up!!! I'm genuinely shocked at the amount of ADULTS that think it's okay to make comments about a CHILD'S physical appearance in front of them aka my godmother. skinny shaming is real. sorry if you disagree but actually not. is it as severe as fat shaming? No. But neither are okay at all. 
> 
> Im also not implying it's wrong to medicate teens for anxiety. I just know it was more stigmatized back then than it is now and even now, it's a well known fact that medicating a teenager for anxiety is significantly harder to get right than it is when they're an adult! From the time I was 18 till I was about 20, I was trying to find a drug that didn't make me feel 10x worse because I was trying to avoid medication in my teens which I'm glad I did! I still am stuck settling for medication that makes me feel physically ill but alleviates the other symptoms. Mental illness is a hard thing to handle with meds but it can be necessary at times! Do what makes you comfortable or will yield the best results in the long term for you!!!
> 
> Quarantine got my sleep FUCKED. My eyes are chronically bloodshot but they look v blue now. That's optimistic thinking, kids. 
> 
> Tell me why I thought Blinding Lights was an 80s song and I couldn't listen to it in front of my mother because anytime I listen to 80s music within her vicinity, she will go on a rant about how the 80s are superior in every way to the current generation despite the fact that they ignored an AIDs crisis and reagan was president.... until I found out it was by The Weeknd. what the everlasting fuck? 
> 
> Stay healthy kids. Life was so much easier when hit the quan first came out. like "i call shots just do it like nike" that hit different. 
> 
> A modern day teenage Richie Tozier would NOT work at a movie theater as we all like to think. He would work at sonic and flex his rollerskating abilities as a car-hop person. I don't make the rules. I just enforce them. 
> 
> Richie and Eddie are doing themed dinner now since they still can't leave the house because of quarantine. Last night was decades. Eddie did a cute ass 70s look. Richie came down dressed as slutty George Washington.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG chapter ahead. Aye lmao. Shameless sickfic material and Dr. K content? You know it, fuckers. Jk that was rude. I need some flooof because sad boy hours be hitting. Idk how this one gonna pan out but hopefully it doesn't disappoint and if it does, why the everlasting fuck are you still here? Don't you know by now that disappointment is what I live to do? Damn.
> 
> 12k in under 4 hours? Idk how. Get ready for a plethora of spelling and grammatical errors because I'm what the French call, a dumb bitch. -finger guns- Honestly, I haven't slept in about 30 hours and when I reread it, I found some FUNNY ASS spelling errors. So... if you spot some, don't come for me. Just laugh at me. Or roast me. Live your life, friend.
> 
> I hope this meets your standards, kiddos.

Maggie knew Eddie had to love her son more than Richie knew and more than he knew himself.

**May 1991**

Turns out Eddie was right and Richie did end up getting a credited role in Derry High’s production of  _ Godspell  _ despite his (in Richie’s opinion and Richie’s only) less than aesthetically pleasing appearance and his status as a baby freshman. He ended up cast as Herb which truly required minimal acting on Richie’s part as the character was a complete goofball and served as comedic relief through most of the play. Bev was cast as Peggy which did require more effort in that her personality was a polar opposite of the role she was given. Richie was slightly disappointed in that he didn’t get to showcase his vocals as much as other characters but it was perhaps for the best since he still lisped around a lot of his ‘s’ sounds from his braces and his voice was constantly cracking now and had yet to fully break. Maggie knew his voice would sound infinitely better once his vocal cords finalized their development and he would be thankful that he didn’t humiliate himself by singing as much as other students with an undeveloped, still-dropping voice.

Even the music teacher in charge of casting had remarked that Richie had potential at his audition but did point out the flaws in his tone that would definitely go away within the next year or two which served as a glimmer of hope for his future in Derry’s theater program. He didn’t let it get to him too much once he realized the criticism he’d received did not mean he wasn’t eligible for  _ any  _ role. If anything, his current part did wonders in showcasing Richie’s skill at impressions that were rapidly improving to Went’s level and his remarkable comedic timing. 

Richie and Bev were actually the youngest of the main cast and that didn’t sit well with some of the juniors and seniors that were not given major roles; but for the most part, everyone had been extremely nice to Richie and Bev despite their reputaitons as rumored gay kid (fact) and supposed slut (false). They truly seemed to find their niche together on the stage and spent their after-school hours rehearsing nonstop--especially now that opening-night was just around the corner.

It was proving to be a great outlet for Richie but it also seemed to drain a great deal of his energy-- both mentally and physically. Maggie found it peculiar that Richie seemed so drawn to the stage and other forms of entertainment that warranted large audiences and forbade any miniscule flaws given that he did have such severe anxiety. He did admit to working himself into getting sick and having various anxiety attacks at the idea of having to perform in front of an audience, but was rather dismissive about it because he found genuine joy in getting to portray a character and (hopefully) be entertaining to others that weren’t his family and friends. Maggie did not really think it was the best choice for his mental health, but could not argue against the obvious happiness that her son felt since getting involved. 

The tax on his physical health was something a little more concerning to her. Richie was a relatively healthy teenager-- or at least as healthy as any teenager could be whilst attending a public school where people still did not understand the concept of covering their mouth and washing their hands. He’d fallen victim to more colds and stomach viruses since rehearsals started than Maggie can remember him ever having. Apparently, it was a common occurrence for theater kids to spread germs like wildfire but it also didn’t help that Richie was stretching himself wildly thin this past semester. 

He was not only spending hours rehearsing with Bev, but he was enrolled in almost exclusively advanced classes which required more effort than he ever had to provide before-- but he really didn’t have to try  _ too _ hard. It was a substantial increase, but nothing that seemed to bother Richie too much. He was still dedicated to having a decent social life of seeing his friends nearly every single day and actually branching out to spend time with some of the other theater kids. 

He was also throwing himself to all of his friends’ activities as well. He attended each of Bill and Stan’s baseball games, where he pretended to understand what the hell was going on when he clearly didn’t. He offered a hand at Mike’s farm on more than one occasion-- primarily because he knew that one of Mike’s farm cats was due to have kittens any day now and was hellbent on sneaking one home which Maggie wasn’t necessarily against but knew it would just make Went sneeze. He went to every single one of Eddie and Ben’s track meets-- both home and away ones-- and would cheer them on until his voice was completely hoarse during their various events. 

He was especially invested in seeing Eddie run for more reasons than just his very obvious crush on the boy. Eddie was doing  _ extremely  _ well in track; Ben was too but it was very obvious that he was more of a rookie at the sport. Eddie was doing so well that he proved himself to be a state-qualifier by the middle of the spring season-- something unheard of for a freshman runner. He was an anchor in the 4x400 meter relay and had been the County Champion in the 400 meter dash and the 800 meter run which gave him a rather unflattering picture in the Derry newspaper. It was next to impossible for someone to look remotely decent in a running photo-- but that did not stop Richie from keeping the picture tacked to his wall to tease Eddie for relentlessly (and to show how proud he was of him). Eddie somehow managed to hide that front page image from his mother and expose that he was actually not involved in an after-school study group or just hanging with his friends and was instead setting various records in a sport. 

It should have been a shame that Eddie did not have the support of a parent in his athletic success, but Maggie and Went made it a point to see him at the home meets when possible and were more than willing to pay off his activity fees and ensure that he had everything he needed for the sport. They were already looking to help fund him for cross country as Eddie had briefly mentioned that the long distance coach suggested that he join the team in the fall in order to stay in shape for winter track and because he would surely be an asset there too. 

He truly did not need Sonia being involved in his extracurriculars and certainly ruining it for the boy. If she caught wind of his participation, she would certainly find a way to put it to an end. Luckily, that had not become an issue as of yet and they planned to keep it that way and if it did become a problem… well they would cross that unstable bridge when they came to it. Until then, Maggie made sure to lend motherly support not only to her son, but for Eddie-- especially now that Districts were just on the horizon.

Her nurturing support for Richie was especially needed as he had just recovered from yet another cold that left his throat rather raw and was stripping him of his voice. He wasn’t even singing as much as the other cast members but he seemed to lose his voice more than anyone. It didn’t help that Richie spent the entire school day chattering everyone’s ear off and after rehearsals was often found either at sporting events, cheering his friends on, or blabbering on to his friends in the Clubhouse. He was rather croaky and desperately needed his voice to stay intact as opening night was next Thursday and he had to find a way to keep his voice loud and clear through Saturday-- which meant  _ not _ screaming himself hoarse for Eddie at Districts. Something that was as likely to happen as him admitting his crush on the aforementioned boy. 

“You need to drink tea.” Maggie says as Richie greets her in the morning with a crackly voice. She starts filtering through her own tea boxes to find one that might suit Richie’s rather picky tastes. It’s the start of what Richie has called both ‘tech week’ and ‘hell week’ which means he’s going to be ridiculously busy and diminishing his immune system even more. He truly has been unable to replenish his diminishing energy levels these past few weeks-- especially since he’s fallen ill on far too many occasions. 

He scrunches his nose at that, causing his glasses to slip down the bridge of his nose a bit. “I don’t want your flower water.” He rasps.

“You outta take some, Rich.” Went says, sliding a plate of eggs toward Richie. “You sound like a chainsmoker.”

“He is quickly becoming one.” Maggie huffs. She knows he picked up the habit recently and is starting to become a tobacco fiend much to her dismay. She’s attempted to confiscate the packs from him on more than one occasion, but he seems hellbent on compromising his lungs. 

“Am not.” Richie growls, shoveling a bite of egg into his mouth. 

She begins heating up some water on the stove which immediately elicits a groan out of Richie.

“I don’t want it.”

“You  _ need _ it. You sound pathetic.” Maggie tells him. “You can’t go on next week if you still sound like this.”

“I know. It’ll be gone by this weekend, for sure.” He insists.

“You’ve been bitching about tech week all week. You’re not going to be getting nearly enough rest and it’s not going to get better if you don’t at least  _ try  _ to take care of yourself.” Maggie reprimands. “Honey or no?”

“Honey. Lots.” Richie sighs, knowing he’s stuck drinking her  _ ‘flower water.’  _

She finishes heating the water and then pours it into a Disney themed mug she’s had since her college days and plops in a tea bag to steep while Richie finishes working through his breakfast. Once he’s nearly done, she adds enough honey to appease even a five-year-old’s sweet tooth. She slides the mug over and cannot help the smug smirk that crawls onto her face as his look of disgust quickly melts into one of content as the honey coats his raw throat and as he clearly realizes the flavor is not nearly as abysmal as he initially believed. 

“Good?” Went asks him, picking up the empty plates to rinse off in the sink.

He grunts. He’s fifteen. He’s legally not allowed to admit when his parents are right. 

xXx

They end up spending Saturday morning driving to Bangor where Derry is competing in the Districts meet to watch Eddie compete. Ben, a thrower and a jumper, just barely missed the mark at Counties to make himself qualify for Districts. He isn’t too disappointed in himself seeing as Eddie is actually the  _ only _ freshman that made it to Districts anyway. 

The weather, to most, does not seem optimal. It’s cloudy, a little bit chilly, and rain occasionally sprinkles from the clouds for minutes at a time. Never do the clouds fully open into a torrential downpour; although, the large size and darkening color of the clouds suggests that might be the case later in the day. However, to Eddie, such weather is absolutely perfect as he reports that it’s easier to breathe without a biting chill or a sticky humidity. His legs aren’t likely to cramp up in this mild temperature and his energy is not getting zapped by a bright sun beating down on him. The small sprinkles of rain, as Eddie told Richie, feel really good on his skin while he’s doing static stretches in the middle of the field. It seems odd to the rest of them, but if Eddie is pleased with this gloomy weather, they’ll take his word for it and hope the weather remains in such a seemingly depressive state. 

The meet is extremely long as it is composed of nearly twenty schools and although it isn’t exactly easy to make it this far into the season, there are still a ton of kids scattered everywhere. Went and Maggie snuggle under a blanket together, only paying attention when events they know Eddie is in are announced. Sadly, it’s not like they can dip midway as Eddie’s events are scattered throughout the entire meet and his relay, the 4x400, is the very last event-- so it looks like they’re going to be there for the entire day. They’d stay for forty-eight hours straight if it was for Eddie, though.

Richie spends a portion of the day running around with Bev, Bill, Stan, and Mike. They fill themselves up on various sugary snacks from the concession stands and laugh as Richie gives obnoxious commentary for the races that Eddie is not in. Most of his day, however, is spent with his gangly torso draped over the edge of the fence which occasionally warrants a coach from another school asking him to stop because he might smack his head on any runner sprinting down the home stretch of lane eight. He’s heard it countless times throughout the day, but like most demands from authoritative figures, it goes in one ear and out the other. 

He keeps yelling and whistling at Eddie as he keeps himself limber by stretching on the field or is cheering on his fellow teammates. Ben is with Eddie, helping him stretch his limbs out when necessary. Eddie keeps giggling at Richie and occasionally shoots him a playful glare before throwing a sneaky middle finger his way as to not get himself in trouble for unsportsmanlike conduct or something. Richie has been one of Eddie’s biggest supporters the entire season, and at this point, most of the Derry team is used to hearing Richie scream for Eddie, but that doesn’t mean a different school won’t try to get Eddie in trouble for his subtle banter from across the track. 

It’s truly fascinating to see Eddie get ready for each of his events. He’s really in his element. Before his 400, he bounces in his spikes and practices shooting himself out of the blocks once he has them appropriately spaced for his shorter legs. The first few times are definitely him just gauging if the way they’re set is comfortable but after that, Went and Maggie can both tell that he’s simply trying to intimidate his competition. They leave their stuff on the bleachers and stand against the fence with Richie and his friends in order to cheer him on. The gun blasts and Eddie starts at a quick but steady pace, allowing himself to get toward the front of the pack. He maintains his impressive pacing throughout the back stretch with a powerful stride that shouldn’t come from someone so small. He manages to pick it up somehow, and Maggie is truly amazed by his grace and agility as he sprints down the homestretch and manages to finish first in his heat. 

They repeat this for the 800 meter run which, although a longer and marginally slower event is just as impressive-- if not more. How anyone manages to maintain such a rapid pace for two laps is beyond Maggie’s brain. Sure, most of the kids end up dry heaving after or look on the verge of fainting, but they still manage to finish with great success-- especially Eddie whose legs and lungs, both strong and powerful (so unlike what his mother told him for his entire life) push him past the finish line as the third runner with minimal struggle. The relay came as the rain started to shift from a light drizzle into something more hefty and had many of the spectators sprinting their own records to shelter as the boys lined up for their final race. The first three boys of the Derry team maintained a solid placing of fourth in their laps, but Eddie somehow managed to pull them all the way to first which had Richie, his friends, and of course, Maggie and Went screaming for him as he passed up the long-legged Bangor kid that previously held first for his relay. 

Finally, as the final event ended, all the athletes scattered to their respective teams to celebrate their victories, mourn their losses, gather their ribbons and medals, and head back to the buses. However, Eddie and Ben had already received permission to ride home with the Toziers-- despite the fact that their van was definitely a little overstuffed. Richie and Eddie had already agreed to sit behind the back row in the cargo storage so Eddie could really stretch his sore legs and because Richie was getting too tall to really sit comfortably in the back but he wasn’t about to make his mom sit in the back with a bunch of squirmy teenagers. Sure, it violates a multitude of safety laws… but they can let it slide this time if it means keeping the kids happy.

The sky is really starting to open up now, so Went goes off to get the car pulled up so all the kids and Maggie can pile in without having to trek through the parking lot. Maggie shelters herself under the bleachers with the other kids, but Richie stays out in the torrential rain, jumping up and down, starting to look like a fish out of water as his clothes stick to his skin. He’s eagerly waiting for Eddie to return from retrieving his awards. 

Eddie, no longer in his uniform but in his warm-ups, comes jogging toward them with his duffle slung around his shoulder and awards stuffed in the pockets of his sweats. He moves to make it toward Maggie and everyone to get dry, but is instead pummeled by the bag of bones that is her son as he envelopes the shorter boy into his biggest bear hug and lifts him off his toes.

“Ah! Richie! Put me down!” Eddie laughs. “It’s pouring!”

“A lil’ shower never hurt no one!” Richie teases, dropping him on his feet and guiding Eddie toward Maggie and the other Losers who are all snickering at the two boys.

“You did amazing, sweetheart!” Maggie cheers, moving Eddie’s hood down so she can give him a kiss to the forehead. 

“You w-were great Eddie!” Bill says, patting him on the back.

“What awards did you get?” Stan asks, grinning at the other boy.

“Uh, so I ended up getting third in the 400 overall. Two seniors beat me by just  _ tenths  _ of a second!” He indicates the miniscule difference with narrowly spaced fingers. 

“That’s still  _ really  _ good!” Bev tells him, pulling him into a hug which he gladly melts into.

“Yeah.” He shrugs modestly. “I got fourth in the 800 which means I probably won’t place at States… but we got first in the 4x400 and are actually about a half second away from breaking the state record!”

“That’s great, Eddie.” Mike says.

“Yeah, we just really have to push it at practice for the next three weeks!” 

“You’ll do phenomenal and we’ll all be there for that too.” Maggie tells him. “We better get to the car. I don’t think this is going to stop anytime soon.”

“Get on, Eds. I’ll be your noble steed!” Richie says, crouching in front of Eddie.

“I’d rather walk through the mud then trust you to carry me.” Eddie snorts, but ends up crawling onto Richie’s back, clearly exhausted and achy from the day’s events. Who’s he to turn down a free piggyback ride?

“I’m stronger than I look.” Richie puffs out, the strain obvious in the way his veins pop out around his neck and arms.

“Oh yeah. A real manly-man.” Stan snorts, following closely behind Maggie toward the Tozier’s car. 

“I can get o--”

“Nonsense! I live to serve you, Spaghetti.” Richie interrupts, picking up the pace as the rain begins to get heavier. Soon, they’re all sprinting to where Went has pulled up closer to the entrance of the athletic field and they all pile into the car, with Richie and Eddie huddled in the back. 

“Are we eating in or getting take-out?” Went asks the kids.

“What does our winner want?” Ben teases.

“I say take-out. I think we all smell like wet dogs.” Eddie chirps, squawking at the end of his sentence as he and Richie continue to shift in the cargo load. 

“Sounds good to me.” Went says, before pulling out of the lot and slowly meandering his way through the traffic of other parents and school buses packed with exhausted athletes. 

It’s not long before the kids all knock out in the back seats, snoring softly and leaning up against one another. Maggie cannot see Richie and Eddie’s faces through the rearview mirror but she can only assume the two have situated themselves in a rather  _ close  _ position as she heard Eddie groaning at the stiffness in his legs and Richie whining about his long legs knocking into the back of the backseat. Once they get to Derry, where the rain has already stopped, and Went retrieves enough Chinese take-out to feed a bunch of starving teenagers, some of the kids have started waking up as the smell of fried rice and veggies wafts through the car. The awake ones begin chattering among themselves until they pull up to the Tozier residence. At this point, all of them except Eddie and Richie are contributing to a conversation about the upcoming musical. 

Maggie, carrying one of the bags, walks around to the cargo load and pops it open where she finds Eddie and Richie curled up against one another, using Eddie’s duffle as a pillow and Richie’s jacket as a blanket to cover the two of them just barely. 

She hides a laugh behind her free hand and the moment is quickly ruined as Bill is unable to contain a shrieking laugh at the sight.

Eddie’s head immediately pops up, knocking off Richie’s glasses. His eyes are a tad puffy with exhaustion and he seems somewhat confused as to where he is as he blinked owlishly. Richie grunts, eyes squinting at the loss of his glasses and subject to a world that is most certainly nothing but fuzzy edges and colorful blobs.

“Morning sleeping beauties.” Bev giggles as the two boys separate their bodies from one another. 

Eddie grabs Richie’s glasses and sticks them back on his face. “You’re not that comfy of a bed, I hope you know.”

“Muscle makes for a firm mattress.” Richie says with a shrug, swinging his legs over the edge wincing as his back makes a soft cracking sound. Maggie already knows he’s going to be a victim of Tall-Person-Back-Syndrome as Went likes to call it. Something about a long torso and poor muscle definition is almost welcoming to chronic back pain once someone slips past their teens. 

“So what does  _ bone _ make for?” Eddie retaliates, poking Richie in the side.

“Ask your mom.” Richie responds without hesitation, stretching as he climbs out of the car.

“Beep beep, asshole.” Eddie grumbles as he pulls himself out. 

“Let’s get you guys fed.” Went says, once he gets all the groggy kids out of the van. 

This sparks something in their pacing and has them fast-walking toward the front door and as Maggie follows from behind, she sees a hint of redness on Richie and Eddie’s neck and ears that cannot have been from a sunburn on this cloudy day. 

xXx

Richie’s tech week did end up living up to the other nickname, “hell week.” It’s not only because he’s at the school later than ever, preparing with stage crew, costuming, and other cast members-- but because he is so hellbent on running around to see all his other friends do their things. He doesn’t end up getting sick again throughout the week but does push his voice to its limits by his inability to stay silent for more than forty-two seconds at any given moment. He does however, seem to find some relief in chugging the once dreaded flower water. 

But he managed to survive all of last week and the beginning half of this week. Wednesday was extremely stressful as they went through a six hour dress-rehearsal that caused Richie to be up until one in the morning doing all his other school work that he had procrastinated. 

Maggie and Went decide to go to the opening night showing as Richie had tipped them off that that would be when most of the kids would be in their physical prime. They also took it upon themselves to go on the very last night as well, because despite most of the leads losing their voices and being clearly exhausted, everything was perfectly refined at that point and any mistakes that were made in prior nights were no longer a problem. 

The Losers ended up going to each night of the showing, having worked around their own busy schedules with their athletics and personal work, to ensure that they could watch Richie and Bev truly showcase their incredible ability-- and to embarrass the two of them by shouting obnoxiously loud when it was time for curtain call.

Maggie and Went were impressed during both nights they elected to attend. Richie and Bev were both extremely talented on stage and it was safe to say that Richie was a crowd favorite. Herb, the class clown, was a role perfectly suited to Richie who worked every scripted and improvised part into his favor with his dramatic facials and hysterical voices. He was actually quite impressive with his vocals whenever he sang “Light of the World.” It was something totally unexpected from him and although he may have been mildly pitchy on the final night, it was nothing that couldn’t be attributed to him exhausting his voice for so long. 

Once curtain call was over on Saturday night and everyone was allowed to greet the cast and congratulate them, the Losers sprinted to Richie and Bev once they came back from backstage and pulled them into a rather aggressive group hug. They each took turns ruffling Bev and Richie’s hair and congratulating them quite loudly. Went snorts at their rather noisy show of affection which has some parents quite irritated.

“You both did great, again.” Maggie congratulates.

“Thanks mom.” Richie half-whispers back. His voice is starting to crackle again and it’s clear he’s on his last legs. 

“Thank you mama!” Bev beams, pulling herself away from Ben to give Maggie and Went appropriate hugs. 

“I’m really proud of you, Rich.” Went says, pulling his son into a big bear hug. 

“Thanks, really.” Richie says with a smile. “Uh question.”

“What’s that, sweetie?”

“Um, can I go to the cast party? One of the seniors said they’d take me and bring me home. Bev’s going and so are the Losers.”

“Eddie, you’re going?” Went questions, cocking his brow.

“No. I’m  _ staying the night with Mike.”  _ He snorts.

“Of course you are.” Maggie laughs. “Alright. You deserve it, I suppose.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Went instructs simply. 

“That’s asking a lot of Richie.” Stan tells Went. 

“Oh fuck you.”

“He’s not completely wrong.” Went shrugs. “Seriously, be careful. Don’t take this proud moment away from me. Save that for college.”

“ _ Wentworth! _ ” Maggie scolds, elbowing her husband in the ribs. Went just chuckles to himself. “Seriously, if  _ any  _ of you kids feel unsafe or scared, call us and we’ll come get you.”

“Oh yeah, I’m totally gonna call my mommy and daddy.” Richie says sarcastically.

“Or you can just come ho--”

“Alright, alright.” Richie groans. “Love you guys. Thanks for coming.” He says, giving them one last hug before heading to the group of seniors that agreed to take the Losers to this cast party. 

“You think it was wise to let him go?” Maggie asks Went as she and him head out toward their own car. She is imagining having to bail her son out of jail after the party gets shut down. She can see him stumbling in the house, clearly plastered. She cannot help but wonder if he’s going to experiment with drugs or sex or something whilst at this kid’s house. God, she can only hope the parents don’t value their furniture too much if their child is inviting a bunch of theater kids and their friends into their home. 

“Oh definitely not.” he says. “But we definitely were doing worse at his age.” 

xXx

Richie does come home smelling vaguely of alcohol but is tipsy at best-- which isn’t saying a lot given his lithe frame. He was quite giddy and had a new bruise on his knee that he didn’t know where he got it from, but overall, he came home feeling relatively fine. There was a smudge of some lipstick on his lips that was a similar color of what one of the older girls was wearing on stage and what one of the girls in the ensemble had on as well. Maggie isn’t stupid. She knows what kind of games high school kids get up to at parties. 

She can only confirm that Richie definitely swapped his spit with at least two girls and probably other boys in whatever game he got involved in when he wakes up on Monday looking rather pathetic and sounding like he swallowed glass. 

His face is pale and his eyes are smudged with purple and he seems somewhat unsteady on his feet. His mouth is partially open and his lips are swollen. She can hear him breathing from across the kitchen and she doesn’t like the sound of the congestion gurgling deep in his chest.

“You don’t look too good, honey.” She tells him.

“Guh.” He responds intelligently, swallowing around whatever gunk is caught in his throat. “Theater Crud. Bev woke up with it yesterday. Everyone gets it after a show.” 

Yes, after a show involves cast parties with games of tonsil hockey. It’s no wonder all these theater kids find themselves sick so frequently. 

She puts her wrist to his head and finds it surprisingly cool. He hums quietly at the touch, eyes fluttering slightly. “Do you need to stay home?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. It’ll clear up. I just slept with my mouth open so everything is just gross right now.”

“You sure, Rich? Went asks. 

He nods. “Yeah. Eds has a Geometry exam today and I promised I’d help him study during study hall.”

“ ‘Course you did.” Went chortles.

Richie narrows his eyes and falls into a short fit of dry coughs before relieving himself by chugging the tea his mother has kindly made for him. 

“I’m sure Eddie would underst--”

“If he doesn’t pass he can’t go to States, mom. I’ll take it easy.  _ Everyone  _ gets this, mom. I won’t even go to Mike’s today to see Eduardo.”

Eduardo is the kitten from Mike’s farm that Richie had claimed as his own. He had wanted to name it Eddie, but Eddie had gotten mad at the suggestion so Richie settled for Eduardo. He still had plans to sneak the kitty home once it was old enough to no longer need to nurse from his mother. Went was still against the idea but had suddenly decided to restock all of his allergy medication. It’s up in the air as of now. 

“Alright.” She sighs. “But if you start feeling ba--”

“Call the office. I know.” He says, picking at his cereal. “I’ll be fine.”

xXx

**June 1991**

By the end of the week, Bev was fully recovered from whatever ailed her and most of the other kids. Richie, however, was not. If anything, he just got worse as the week progressed and kept insisting that he was good to go to school and despite his pathetic appearance, he did seem as okay as someone could when they clearly weren’t feeling the best.

Saturday was a different matter. Throughout the week he was just a little raspy and would cough into the crook of his elbow every now and then but it was nothing major. It was enough for Eddie to shove cough drops at him during their lunch hour so when he came home he smelled strongly of methanol and cherries. 

When he came down, significantly later than usual, it was obvious he was feeling significantly worse than he had in days prior. His face was wiped of all color and his eyes were heavy with a lack of sleep and his voice was totally shot when he greeted them that morning.

“Richie, you look terrible.” Maggie says, eyes wide with concern.

“Feel it.” He mumbles before falling into a rather wet-sounding coughing fit. He gags at the end of it and reels over to the sink where he hacks up some nasty looking phlegm. 

Went gets up and rubs his son’s shaking shoulders and presses a hand to his sweaty forehead and winces slightly. “He’s hot.”

“Thanks… but that’s weird coming from you, dad.” 

“I’ll take him to urgent care.” Maggie immediately says. 

“Uh-uh.” Richie negates, plopping himself down, curling into his oversized sweatshirt. “I just want to sleep today. Please.” 

“Has he had a flu shot?” Went asks before going into the half-bath and searching for a thermometer. 

“Yeah. He nearly cried over it.”

“Thanks mom. Kick me when I’m down.” He snorts grossly, the sound of whatever shit is caught in his throat sliding down slowly. 

“Under your tongue. Don’t talk.” Went instructs after rinsing the thermometer off and giving it a gentle shake.

Richie slides it under his mouth, wincing as it knocks into his braces a few times before he finds a way for it to sit without knocking into his teeth. They wait impatiently. Richie tries crossing his eyes in an attempt to watch the mercury move in the glass tube. He immediately stops as what is surely a rather painful headache is aggravated by the motion of his eyeballs. 

Went keeps an eye on it and waits till he can see the liquid stop moving. He plucks it from Richie’s mouth and slides his reading glasses on to read the numbers. “A little over a hundred. I’d say about 100.4.” 

“Not too bad.” Richie says, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Get him some fever reducer and cough syrup.” Maggie tells Went. “We’re keeping an eye on that but you need to rest today. If you get worse though, we’re going to the doctor.”

“Meh.” He mumbles.

xXx

He spent all of Saturday and Sunday cooped up on the couch, dozing on and off. Some of the Losers had come over Sunday afternoon to see if he wanted to come and swim at the quarry for the first time all year since the weather had finally caught up to speed and a nice warmth had settled across Derry. They had had their pool opened since the middle of May, but hadn’t gotten much use of it with Richie’s busy schedule and the rain that seemed to plague them more often than not. Richie was bitter that he’d of course fallen ill just as it was getting nice outside.

She had to turn them away, informing them that Richie was under the weather which of course startled Eddie. He immediately began arching his neck around Maggie to catch a glimpse of the blanketed lump sleeping on the couch and began telling her how he’d told Richie countless times all week to go home and that he knew he was sick and began his panic-rambling before Maggie quickly shut the door and hugged the boy before he talked himself into a full-blown anxiety attack.

“I know.” She told him, stroking his hair soothingly. “He’s being stubborn about it.” Eddie nodded quickly, taking even breaths in order to calm himself.

“Thank you.” He said quietly. Maggie gives him a gentle smile as Stan rubs his shoulders in a reassuring manner.

She turned to Bev. “You’re feeling better, right?”

“Yeah. Mine and everyone else's went away by like Wednesday.” She shrugged. 

“He’s just not kicking it yet. I might take him in if he keeps it up like this.” Maggie informed them. 

“Alright, tell him we hope he feels better.” Stan says. 

“If he needs anyth-anything, let us know Mrs. Tozier.” Bill adds.

“Of course, sweeties. Be safe and wear sunscreen!” She tells them, waving them goodbye. 

Eddie sticks behind and looks up at her with concern in his doe eyes.”Will you um call me if anything changes with him?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Of course, sweetie. Don’t get too worked up about it. You just have fun and I’m sure we’ll all be there for you at States next weekend.”

He flashes a gentle smile. “Thanks Mrs. T!” 

He ends up missing school on Monday and Tuesday as he couldn’t really sleep through the nights. She decides to stay home with him on Monday and she’s already off on Tuesday to keep him some company. She spends the days trying to make him comfortable and to coax him into eating something but he’s too exhausted to keep his eyes open long enough to really get more than two bites past his inflamed throat.

After a long night of him plagued with chest-rattling coughs that have him gagging up more green-colored phlegm, she puts her foot down and has him set to go to the doctor as early as possible on Wednesday--much later than she would have liked. Richie was insistent that he didn’t need to go and that it was just a stupid cold he couldn’t kick. It was useless arguing with him as he was as bullheaded as they came. He just waved her and Went off whenever they expressed any concern that went beyond worried eyes and plastic cups of grape-flavored medicine that definitely did not taste like grapes.

On Wednesday he was not nearly as stubborn. It was clear his body had fully succumbed to whatever nastiness was wreaking havoc on his immune system. He was riddled with shivers as he slowly dressed himself into a sweater that was definitely too heavy for the June weather but felt right to his feverish self. Went offers to stay with them today as he takes one look at Richie and is immediately worried for his son.

“I got this.” She reassures her husband as she throws her curls into a high ponytail. 

“You sure? He seems really out of it.”

“Yeah. I think he probably has bronchitis or something.” She tells him.

“If you think he does, then we  _ know  _ he does.” Went laughs despite the situation. 

She shrugs. “I thought mono at first given the party he went to… but if that was the case,  _ everyone  _ would still be sick.”

Went nods in agreement. “Alright. Well get him there and I’ll see you later tonight, alright.” He plants a gentle kiss on her lips and then heads out the door.

“You alright in there, baby?” Maggie says, knocking on the door.

“Ugh.” He groans. He opens the door, his glasses slightly askew and hair more ruffled than it was just mere seconds ago suggesting that he attempted to go back to bed. 

“Are you ready to go?” 

He nods and gets caught into a fit of hacking coughs. “Fuck.” He whines, rubbing at his ribs. It’s no surprise that he’s most definitely straining the intercostal muscles around his ribs from the violent episodes he keeps falling into. 

“I know.” She rubs his back gently and walks in front of him, almost worried that he’s going to topple over as he slowly walks down the stairs. 

She helps him into the car where he immediately curls up and dozes on the way to the doctor’s office. She looks at him with concern as he wheezes loudly in his sleep. He has really let this go on for too long. 

Once she gets in the office and has him signed in, they thrust a mask at Richie when they hear the wet sound of his coughs. He takes it begrudgingly, mumbling that it looks stupid. At least he still has somewhat of his fighting personality still alive through his sickness. 

It isn’t a long wait, but it’s long enough for Richie to fall asleep against her while they wait for him to be called back. Once a kind faced nurse opens the door and calls for “Richard Tozier,” she shakes him gently awake which seems to only trigger a coughing fit. The nurse gives a sympathetic smile as Richie moans pathetically behind his mask and walks slowly to the back. 

The nurse takes his basic measurements, noting that he’s grown yet another two inches since his last visit. Maggie isn’t surprised. He’s outgrown all his shoes and all his  _ new  _ jeans from his birthday are already starting to skim the top of his ankles. His fever has gone up despite the fever reducers they’ve had him on to a solid 103 which makes Maggie shift uncomfortably. It isn’t that surprising though with Richie’s listless nature. They are then taken to a room with a bed covered in sanitary paper. Normally Richie avoids sitting on the crinkly bed until instructed to do so by a doctor, but he immediately climbs on and curls up. 

Maggie scoots her chair toward his bed and twirls his sweaty curls gently, almost having him lulled to sleep when a male doctor opens the door after a gentle knock.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Swidler. This is Richie?”

“Yeah.” Maggie says. 

Richie sits up with a slight wheezy sound scratching his throat, waving at the doctor. 

“So,” Swidler starts, looking at the notes taken by the nurse. “Seems like you’re not feeling the greatest, huh?”

Richie slides the mask down around his neck and gives a raspy, “no” before stumbling into another round of coughs. The doctor is quick and gives him a tissue where Richie coughs whatever gunk he manages to bring up.

“Alright. It’s good that he  _ is  _ coughing stuff up. It means he’s clearing his lungs but it still doesn’t sound too good.” He gets in front of Richie and starts checking his mouth, ears, and eyes. “I take that he can’t talk very well right now, so could you tell me what’s been going on with him?”

“Yeah, of course. He was sick over the weekend and I wanted to take him then but his fever was low-grade and he’s kind of stubborn.” Richie grunts indignantly at that. “He had a mild cough then but it’s become more chronic and obviously his fever has gone up. He’s complained some about body aches and he’s definitely been more short of breath. It’s also probably important to know that he’s been sick on and off since about March with random colds which probably hasn’t helped him because I don’t think he’s ever really gotten completely better from anything he’s had.”

“Yeah, his immune system hasn’t had much time to recover.” Swidler agrees, rubbing at Richie’s lymph nodes which causes Richie to wince slightly. 

“We were thinking he may have gotten bronchitis.” Maggie suggests. “He’s in his school’s theater group and all the other kids got sick too but they recovered once the show was over.”

“I’d say that sounds like an accurate diagnosis. Can you lift your shirt, Richard?” The doctor asks and Richie complies. A grimace crosses his face as the cold stethoscope touches his feverish skin. “Deep breath… and out. Again… and out.” He nods. “Yeah, your lungs sound really crummy, kid.”

“Great.” Richie rasps, coughing roughly into his elbow. 

“I think I want to do a chest x-ray on him just in case. He sounds pretty congested and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s going into pneumonia or if he already  _ is. _ If it is, I think we should admit him for a night just so we can monitor his breathing and maybe have him on some O2 to help him breathe better and then we can send him home with a prescription. If it isn’t, we’ll get him on some antibiotics that should kick in by the end of the week but they will make him cough a lot more but that’s a good thing. It means he’s clearing his lungs.” 

Maggie nods, rubbing Richie’s shoulders gently. 

“I’ll also prescribe him an albuterol inhaler to use twice a day. This will help dilate the bronchial tubes and make it easier for him to clear his lungs and breathe. Additionally, before you leave, I would like him to do an albuterol treatment. It’ll be a good kick start before he starts the medication.”

“Thank you so much.” Maggie says and Richie just gives a tired thumbs-up.

“I’ll have an x-ray tech come fetch him in a few minutes. It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back once we have those pictures taken.”

He leaves the room and Richie immediately slumps back on the cot, ripping some of the safety paper. 

“Poor baby.” She says as he coughs roughly into the mask he’s once again pulled over his face, too tired to bother moving his arms to cover his incessant coughs. A technician comes in and pulls Richie out, asks if he needs his mother to follow which he hesitates before saying no and is taken away for a little while before returning to his room. He crawls back onto the bed and drops his head down, dozing until Swidler returns about twenty minutes later. This is truly the quietest Richie has been in all fifteen years of his life. Maggie decides she doesn't like it at all.

“Alright, so he’s not in pneumonia quite yet.” He says, placing the pictures against the wall-mounted illuminator. “However,” He points to a section that is white around the center of his lungs and Maggie doesn’t really understand what she’s looking at as reading an X-ray to her just looks like a bunch of amorphous blobs woven through what is clearly bones. “He is starting to go into it. He doesn’t have enough of these pulmonary infiltrates-- the cotton ball looking objects-- for me to say he has it but I would say he could still be admitted if it would make you comfortable.”

Maggie opens her mouth to speak and Richie immediately speaks up, “Uh-uh.” 

“Honey if you’re this sick--”

“No.” He mutters tiredly. 

“Alright. We can start him on his medication unless you want to admit him. If not, just call me to check in tonight and tomorrow morning and we can make a definitive decision if he ends up taking a turn.”

“I think that’s doable.” She says. She’s not sure if she would have wanted him admitted either but she doesn’t like the idea of him getting worse from this. 

“Alright, I’ll have someone come in here and get him started with a breathing treatment which should clear his lungs a bit and then you can be on your way. Make sure he gets lots of fluids and stays on top of his medicine. 

“School?” Richie says to her weakly. 

“Uh yeah,” Maggie starts. “What about school?”

“I can write him an excuse.” Swidler says gently.

“He finishes school next Wednesday, on the 12th.” She informs him.

“Honestly, I don’t think he should go back before then. He’s still not going to be feeling well and if he’s been sick on and off since  _ March,  _ he really should take as much time as possible to rest if he wants to enjoy the rest of his summer.” Swidler admits. “I’ll write a note for him and you can give it to his school and they’ll probably just exempt him from exams or make him take them at home or later in the summer.” 

That elicits a small growl from Richie which sends him back into a hacking fit. The idea of any type of summer school is a major turn-off to him. But what definitely deters him most is the fact that he will not be spending the rest of his freshman year in the company of his closest friends. 

“I understand. We will definitely keep him home.” Maggie confirms. 

xXx

As expected, the breathing treatment does cause Richie to cough a lot more on their way home, loosening up some of the gunk clogging his airways. He spends the drive home hacking into several of drive-thru napkins she has stowed away in the glove compartment. He stays in the car while she retrieves his medication and his inhaler which causes him to snort slightly.

“What’s funny?”

“Eddie.” He says blandly as if it explains everything. His face falls as she makes the turn to their neighborhood. 

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“States?” He rasps. “Eddie’s running this weekend.”

“Oh, honey…” Maggie says sadly. She knows he wants nothing more than to go and support his friend. “You really can’t afford to go.”

“But what if I get better by then?”

“Sweetie, the doctor doesn’t even want you returning to school. I can’t let you go.”

“He went to my stuff.” He whimpers weakly, coughing roughly into yet another napkin. “Mom…”

“Richie, I know you want to support him but you can’t go. I’m not letting you. Eddie wouldn’t want you to do that to yourself, anyway.”

He sighs sadly and removes himself from the car slowly once they get in. He blinks a few times as vertigo clearly washes over him for a brief second. 

“Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head. She’s not surprised. Being sick is the one thing that depletes Richie’s insatiable appetite. She desperately wants to get something into his system but knows she can only win so many battles against him so she figures she can just give him some fluids and make him a calorie-dense smoothie. 

“Can I lay on the couch?” He asks, stepping into the house and sliding off his sneakers.

“Of course, sweetie. I’m going to call your school and determine what they want to do with this situation. I’m sure they’ll be accomodating with you given your grades… unless your behavior is still as appalling as it typically is.” She teases. 

“Who knows.” He mutters, dropping on the couch.

“Use pillows, sweetie. Laying flat on your back will clog everything up.”

“Mmmhmm.” Richie stacks two of the throws together and wraps himself in an afghan. He doesn’t even bother turning the TV on and instead just balls his gangly limbs close to his body. It doesn’t take long for his wheezy breathing to even out as sleep easily takes over his sick body.

xXx

The school ended up agreeing to send the remainder of Richie’s work home with one of his friends on Friday to complete at his own pace. They told Maggie that he would only be marked for what he could complete as they saw no reason for him to make up any of his courses over the summer since he was acing every course-- with the exception of P.E. He’s notorious for skipping that class and he’s started losing any athleticism he possessed as a child as he is unable to properly center himself with his body parts growing at rapidly different rates. Richie isn’t particularly fond of the idea of doing  _ any  _ work whilst in such a state, but it’s better than wasting any bit of his summer completing any missed work. 

He spends most of Thursday and Friday morning cooped up in the living room as he decides walking up the stairs winds him too much which Maggie and Went can’t argue against given the pathetic sound that emanates from his lungs. He’s on top of his medication and he doesn’t show any immediate improvements but as predicted by Dr. Swidler, he is coughing a lot more much to Richie’s annoyance. It’s clear that the hacking fits have him feeling sore and have rubbed his throat absolutely raw. He’s beyond drained and is clearly glum about the fact that he feels so shitty.

His mood does lift slightly when Eddie comes over Friday afternoon. Maggie had gotten Richie situated with a cup of throat-coat tea and an episode of  _ Twin Peaks  _ which he really isn’t paying any mind to as he’s clearly on the verge of dozing once more. She’s about to leave long enough to get some ingredients to make a batch of chicken noodle soup which is a rather off-season dish for the approaching summer but something that will definitely help Richie out right now. 

A gentle knock raps on the door and she opens it to see Eddie, holding a few textbooks that clearly could not fit in his overstuffed backpack and some other papers. He should be at practice Maggie thinks to herself but it’s nice to see a familiar face.

“Hi, Mrs. Tozier. I uh, have Richie’s stuff.” His face is somewhat sad. “The lady at the office told me Richie can’t come back for the last week?”

“No, I’m sorry sweetie. I meant to call you about everything, but it kind of slipped my mind.”

“How’s he doing?” Eddie asks nervously.

“He’s been better.”

“ ‘S that Eds?” Richie asks hoarsely. 

Eddie peers from beyond Maggie. “Holy shit, you sound awful.”

“Thanks.” Richie grumbles, sipping some hot tea. “Feel it too.”

“Can I… uh say hi?” He asks Maggie and this surprises her. Sure, Eddie has never been overly opposed to being with Richie when he’s been ill in the past. But Richie’s never really been around him with anything more than a mild influenza and even then Eddie was extremely skittish to approach Richie to offer some forced comfort. Now, he seems slightly more relaxed and almost eager to approach her sick son.

“If you want.” Maggie says gently. “I’m about to head out here tho--”

“I’ll stay with him.” Eddie insists. “He probably doesn’t want to be alone. He’s a big baby.”

“I’m right here.” Richie says before falling into a coughing fit that causes him to drop the mug on his front. “Fuck!” Richie attempts to yell but it’s broken and weak, as he swings himself off the couch, unsteady on his feet.

“Oh Jesus, Richie.” Maggie sighs, turning back inside.

“It’s okay. I got it.” Eddie insists. “I know where all his clothes are.”

“Sweetie you don’t need to.”

“I want to. We all kinda miss being annoyed by him.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah! It’s fine.” Eddie insists. 

Maggie ends up leaving Eddie with Richie, very uncertain as to how that is going to pan out. She has no doubt that Richie would be in good hands with Eddie’s presence, but Eddie’s never been around Richie when he’s been  _ this  _ sick. Yes, he’s in an onward recovery from the abuse he’s endured from his mother, but it’s not like it’s all going to evaporate at once. Sickness still shakes the boy up slightly and the fear of getting sick is one that terrifies him because if he actually caught something like what Richie had, Sonia would truly milk it for everything it was worth and convince him that he was on death’s door or something.

She attempts to avoid such discerning thoughts whilst purchasing some essentials for the soup-- grabbing orzo as opposed to regular noodles since Richie always seemed to prefer chicken noodle with the rice-like pasta. She grabs some chicken and an abundance of vegetables and more packets of tea and honey. She also is sure to grab some of the cheese crackers that she knows Eddie loves so much. 

She heads back home and hears the sound of two voices bickering from behind the door. One voice is fast-paced and nearly impossible to understand while the other is raspy and only capable of saying a few words before breaking into rough hacks. It’s really no surprise that they’re already down each other’s throats. Instead of allowing them to further aggravate each other, she walks in, bags in hand.

“Oh wow,” she says, noting the damp state of Richie’s hair and the fresh pajamas he’s in. “You got him to shower.”

“Yeah. I thought it might loosen some stuff up.”

“Making me cough is what it did.” Richie growls, coughing roughly for emphasis.

“That’s a  _ good thing _ , asshole.” Eddie scoffs. 

“Doesn’t feel like it.” Richie mumbles, dropping his head back on the pillow. 

“Thank you, Eddie. He was starting to smell rather rank.”

“‘M sick. Don’t gotta smell good.” 

“It’s preferred for the well-being of others.” Eddie snorts.

“Mmmph.” Richie says, eyes fluttering shut as he bunches himself up in a ball.

“Night, Rich.” Eddie says. “Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Tozier?”

“No, it’s alright sweetie.” Maggie says, carrying the groceries to the kitchen. “How’s school been? Are you excited for States tomorrow?”

“It’s been okay and I um… I don’t know” Eddie sighs, shifting uncomfortably. She cannot tell what is on his mind but she knows he is withholding  _ something.  _ “Our lead guy can’t compete because he’s on academic probation.”

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah and the alternate doesn’t have nearly as good of a time as him and even if he manages to run his PR, we still aren’t looking at even  _ placing _ , let alone setting our state record.” He sighs, disappointment heavy in his tone. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. I really wish we could go but Richie--”

“Yeah, I know.” He says sadly. “He got kinda mopey about it after his shower and that made us start arguing.”

Maggie snorts at that. “He’s very touchy when he doesn’t feel well.”

“I can see that.” Eddie giggles. He cocks his head innocently as she begins organizing the ingredients for the soup. “Um… can I help make the soup by any chance?”

Maggie’s brows rise in surprise for a moment. “Oh, only if you want.”

He nods in earnest. “Yeah, my mom doesn’t trust me in the kitchen and I dunno… I see you guys always cook a lot and it looks kinda fun.”

“Of course, sweetheart. You can start by chopping the veggies. The cutting boards are--”

“Over here, I know.” Eddie snickers. “I basically live here.” 

Maggie laughs at that. “Okay. Wash the vegetables under the sink and then cut them into same size bits, alright? Cut in this motion,” she demonstrates against the cutting board, “and be sure to give plenty of room for your fingers. I don’t want to have to lie to your mom about you not having fingers on top of everything else.”

Eddie proves to be an excellent help in the kitchen. He asks her the right questions and pays close attention to detail-- something that Richie often fails to do. Richie, although a delight when he does decide to help out with baking or cooking or whatever, is often haphazard in nature and neglects all instruction. Whatever concoction he creates is  _ usually  _ good, but there have been instances where his dwindling focus has caused him to forget vital steps or ingredients in a few recipes. The worst instance of his forgetfulness was when he completely neglected the sugar in a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

They finish getting all their ingredients in the broth and allow it to simmer on the stove. 

“That should be good.” Maggie says. 

“Uh, so how has Richie been?” Eddie asks, worry crossing his features. 

“Not too great. I think he was just over-exerting himself with school, theater, and then hanging with everyone.”

Eddie nods in agreement. “I feel bad. He always felt like he had to come to my stuff which couldn’t have been helpful to his load.”

“Don’t. He  _ wanted  _ to.”

“I kinda told him he was a good-luck charm after he was late to one and I tripped out of the starting blocks.” Eddie shrugs, a flush blossoming on his cheeks. “I know I didn’t fall because he wasn’t there, but I knew he wasn’t and it kinda bothered me.”

Maggie cannot contain her smile at that piece of information. Went will love hearing it. Any parent that tries to pretend they’re not complete gossips about their children are either liars or don’t quite understand the definition of gossip. There’s no middle-ground as far as Maggie can see. 

“He likes being there for you. Trust me. He was devastated when I told him he had to stay home this weekend.”

Eddie smiles sadly. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Would you kindly get him to wake up? I want him to eat something before the wind whisks him away.”

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie walks out and she can hear his gentle tones as he manages to drag Richie from the couch, blanket cocoon and all, into the kitchen where he plops himself at the table, blinking blearily behind his glasses. 

“I’m not--”

“It’ll feel good on your throat.” Maggie says, mussing his curls. 

“Mmmph.” He mumbles, accepting a half-full bowl. Maggie knew not to push her luck with a full one just yet.

She and Eddie get themselves some as well, and she is sure to leave another bowl out for Went once he finally gets off of work.

Richie spoons soup into his mouth, tiredly resting his head on his hand. He glances at Eddie, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “You don’t have to stay here you know.” 

“Huh?” Eddie cocks his head slightly. 

“You have States tomorrow. My mom is back. You don’t have to feel like you have to hang around. I know you should get some rest for tomorrow.”

Eddie shrugs a little. “I dunno. I know how draining of a person you can be. I figured your mom would like the help.”

“He has been a doll.” Maggie admits. She doesn’t want to make Richie feel bad, but him being sick has been rather draining on her. He’s been extremely out of it the last few days and while that’s not his own fault, it still takes a lot out of her to run around to make sure he’s doing alright. She doesn’t exactly trust him to care for himself seeing as he was so against even handling his illness when it was in a much more manageable state. Plus, the excessive worry she feels for him when he’s healthy is now through the roof which is enough to exhaust anyone’s mind.

“I don’t wanna get you sick.” Richie rasps, spooning some broth into his mouth. 

“You’re way past the contagious stage, dude.” Eddie tells him. 

“Still. I don’t want to--”

“Fuck States, Richie.” Eddie says and  _ that  _ shocks Maggie. “I’m not even going anymore.”

“Excuse me?” Richie says.

“Yes, what?” Maggie says. She realizes that this must be what had him unsettled when she brought up States when they were cooking.

Eddie shrugs. “I’d rather stay here all day tomorrow and give your mom a break and make sure you’re not letting yourself drown in your own mucus and actually hitting your inhaler the  _ right  _ way.”

“Tastes like acid.”

“Yeah I know… okay no not really because mine was fake but I do know how you’re supposed to use one.”

“I appreciate that Eddie. But don’t worry.” Maggie tells him.

“It’s fine. I’m a freshman. I have three more years.” He says with a shrug.

“Dude n--” Richie breaks into a nasty fit. Eddie is gentle and helps him over to the sink so he can get up whatever is dislodging from his chest. He pounds gently at the center of Richie’s back until he gets everything up and is gasping pathetically. “I fucking hate these drugs.”

“They’re supposed to do that, idiot.” Eddie snarks, giving Richie a napkin to wipe away any residual spit from his mouth. 

“I  _ know.  _ It just hurts my chest.”

“It’ll get better and then we can drag your ass to the quarry again.”

“Yeah… don’t change the subject.” Richie grumbles, dropping himself back at the table.

“You’re my good-luck-charm, Rich.” Eddie says quietly. “I wouldn’t wanna run if you’re not there and you’re all sad about not being there.”

“Eddie, I really…” Maggie sighs. She doesn’t want to control the boy and tell him what he should do. It’s truly touching that he’s so dedicated to caring for her boy but the idea of him compromising his season really does not sit well with her. “I really think you should finish out your season.”

“I will. I have three years and plus I’m doing cross in the fall. I wasn’t going to place in States anyway and with the whole relay ordeal, I’m not exactly keen on the idea… plus I told Richie’s teachers I’d help catch him up in his classes.”

“We’re not even in the---”

“ _ Yes,  _ I know you’re in the advanced shit. I get it. But I still know where you guys are and what’s going on.”

“Wasn’t saying that.” Richie mumbles.

“I know, Rich. Sorry.” Eddie sighs. “I don’t want to go without you there. I’m not… I’m not going.”

“You can’t do that to your team, Eds.” Maggie tells him. 

“I’m giving a senior a chance to take my spot.” Eddie shrugs. “They’ll never get that chance again. I’m sorry… I’m not changing my mind even if you don’t want me here. I just… I don’t do as well without you there.” He admits. “I know it’s in my head but it makes me feel better.”

“I’m sure everyone else wo--”

“I know they would but… I dunno your Richie-ness helps more I think.”

“But Eds--”

“Nope.” Eddie says, crossing his arms. “You’re stuck with me helping you out so you can give your mom a break… sorry Mrs. Tozier, you just look a little…”

“Dead on my feet?” Maggie questions.

“Sorry.” Richie shrinks on himself and she feels a surge of guilt run through her. She does not want him feeling any shame for being sick. She and Went have dealt with a sick kid on several occasions-- that came with the territory of being a parent. She’s just never had him be this sick and weak before. Honestly, Richie in his current state would be a wet dream to Sonia Kaspbrak right about now. 

“Don’t be.” Eddie laughs “ _ You _ look ten times worse than anyone I’ve seen in ages. Maybe as bad as the lepe-- as the kids at that party the other week.”

“Seriously, sweetie. You’re okay.” Maggie reassures her son, reaching over to stroke his overheated cheek. 

He shrugs wordlessly. “Eddie, I don’t think I can let y--”

“Too bad.” Eddie snorts a little. “Uh, I actually discussed this with coach after Jeremy got kicked off the relay.”

“I’m not surprised at  _ that _ .” Richie huffs. “Dumbass.”

“Yeah… he said it was a good idea.” Eddie says. “He thinks it would be a waste for me to exert myself at the meet and potentially injure myself since it’s supposed to pour out there. I could like, slip and twist something. He wants me to be 100% for Cross Country season and I would rather be here with you than running with a sub-par relay team.”

“I know bu--” Richie starts, guilt woven through his crackly words. 

“Seriously, Rich. The coach is the one who really pushed this, too. There’s no point in me risking injury if it’s going to be a shitty relay team. He’s going to have the B-Team run the relay. They’re all seniors and this is their last opportunity. I have  _ three  _ more years to get even better and to really  _ kill  _ it. I’ll have you then as long as you don’t decide to get yourself sick after every production you star in.”

There really is no arguing this logic. There is no point in Eddie wasting his potential and physical health if he’s not going to win. Sure, parents are meant to teach their kids that winning isn’t everything from the time their kid is small. But competitive sports like this are certainly different-- Winning is  _ everything.  _

“Star my ass.” Richie says around a cough that works it’s way up his torn throat. 

“Shuddup.” Eddie scolds. “Seriously, I really don’t care. I’ve missed  _ you,  _ asshole.”

“You really know how to make a girl blush.” Richie says, voice tired as the warmth of the soup really settles into his stomach, making his lids heavy and voice slurred as sleepiness drips into his voice. 

“I can get him to lay down and put everything away if you wanna lay down, too.”

“Eddie, sweetie it’s--”

“No, really. You all do a lot for me. You pay for my sports. You help me with my mom. I don’t mind.”

“Sweetheart, we don’t mind.” Maggie laughs kindly.

“I know. I just  _ want  _ to.” He says.

“Alright… I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.” She decides, unable to hide her own exhaustion anymore. 

“Got it!” Eddie grins, moving to clean up the dishes as Maggie leaves the two boys to their own devices. She feels a warmth in her stomach at Eddie’s persistent desire to not only help her but to be there for her son. It’s truly remarkable that he is not absolutely mortified by the prospect of getting sick or being around a person as sick as Richie is right now. It shows not only his gains in regards to his recovery from Sonia’s maltreatment, but the genuine care he feels for her boy. 

xXx

Maggie must have been more tired than she expected because when she opens her eyes again, it’s nearly dark out and Went is changing in front of her.

“Nice.” She mumbles to him sleepily as he stands in his underwear in front of his pajama drawer. 

Went chuckles at that, turning to face her as he pulls on one of his sleep shirts. “Hi you.” He greets, kissing her as she sits up. “Long day?”

“Yeah. I just got super tired, I guess. Eddie came over earlier and he really helped out.” She then goes on to tell him about everything that happened today: Eddie watching over Richie while she shopped, Eddie helping her cook, Eddie admitting that he sees Richie as a “good-luck-charm,” and how his coach and hm decided to get out of running because everything for States was mucked up anyway and he wanted to be with Richie instead.

“Well that just makes what I saw even better.” Went says, a playful smirk upon his face.

“Huh?” She narrows her eyes at him, confused.

“Come downstairs. Be quiet.” He says, sliding on a pair of worn pajama pants that he’s probably had since Richie was a toddler. 

She follows him down the stairs and she sees  _ it.  _ “Oh my God.” She says, giggling behind her hand. 

“I already got pictures, don’t worry.” He tells her. “They’re idiots, I’m telling you.”

Eddie is propped up against the pillows Richie has had stacked for the last few days, eyes closed and gentle breaths escaping through his parted lips. Her son is curled up to be as small as his gangly frame can possibly be, his head against Eddie’s chest, a guttural sound occasionally rumbling deep in his chest. 

Richie shifts slightly, a fit of coughs shaking his sleeping form. Eddie, still caught in his own dreamscape, rouses just enough to notice this and begins rubbing a gentle pattern into Richie’s spine, easing whatever fit has tried to plague him this time. The two are so incredibly snug and Richie looks as comfortable as he has since he first fell ill. It is plain as day that there is something special between these two that they’re too dense to realize. There is no doubt in her mind about how much these two boys love each other and she truly hopes they open their eyes at some point.

The amount of comfort and trust Richie finds in Eddie and the amount of care Eddie is willing to give to her son in a manner that is so unlike his overbearing mother’s-- unconditional, safe, and without any malice behind it--it is care that is only prompted by a desire to help and not to imprison. He knows how to care for her boy in a way she could never.

Truly, Eddie’s presence is hands down the best medicine Richie’s had all week. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eddie is a boy with a crush. Richie is a boy with a crush. I wonder who they like. Beats me. 
> 
> Also utilizing my minimal knowledge of high school theater because tb to those days. I only did it for a few years before it started interfering with other things too much.... but Godspell was and is a fav of mine. Iconic content. I know more about track though because I've been a runner my whole existence and I'm NGL my biggest pet peeve in TrackStar!Eddie fanfic is when people write track being as being in the same season as football which is fall obviously... track is a spring (and indoor winter) sport. XC is a fall sport. Training might continue in fall... but most runners just extend their season by just joining the XC team (if they're not in a fall sport) to stay in shape but there aren't track meets in the fall. I would never ditch a fic because of that tho. Just... food for thought. ooof. Not judging or trying to be a dick! It's just a piece of info that not everyone knows!
> 
> low-key would melt over olympic runner eddie au. Honestly olympian losers. why hasn't that happened yet? what the fuck? hear me out: Gymnast or Pole-Vaulter Bev, Weight-lifter Ben, Rower Stan, Fencer Mike, Swimmer Richie, Runner Eddie, Cyclist Bill. bro. 
> 
> Self-isolation be hitting big. Sad boi hours are painful. Pay attention to yourself and your feelings. Do something that helps you. Stay healthy. Go outside. I know you're not getting your vitamin D if you just sat and read this chapter. GO OUTSIDE DAMMIT but don't be a social butterfly. no. flatten the curve. it's not as flat as bill hader's ass. I know it might be chilly where you live (it's snowing for me), but try to get fresh air... I mean this is the freshest it's probably been in a decade because humans are indoors.
> 
> Richie and Eddie are going stir crazy because unlike some assholes in the States, they're practicing some heavy social isolation (fucking stay home you assholes). Richie dyed his hair. Eddie likes it. Idk what they're doing in their bedroom rn. Checkers, probably. Eddie tried following a tie dye tutorial on tiktok. Now his favorite shorts look fucking horrendous. It's been a moment for them.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I was attacked by a spider whilst writing the other day and if that's a sign to just give up this story now, LMK because I'm still terrified of my bedroom. OOOOOF. Also it snowed at least 4 inches today. It's April. I should just call it quits now. 
> 
> Anyway, here is a series of random events in high school! I hope this chapter is enjoyable to read! As per usual, always nervous to post because self esteem is a concept. The Reddie content is low in this one and merely hinted and there's just more focus on parenting a child as wild as Richie.
> 
> does anyone else find it weird that people are calling soulmate AUs tiktok AUs now when all the soulmate AUs on TikTok have been around on this site for years and years now and on tumblr back in the glory days? Im confused by that.
> 
> TW for discussions of underage drinking

Maggie knew despite her best efforts, Richie would make his own mistakes.

**October 1991**

As much as Maggie did not want to admit it, Richie was growing up and he was growing up fast. Gone were the days of him toddling around the house on chunky legs and always turning to her in moments of uncertainty, waiting for her nod of approval before he attempted a miniscule task all by himself. He was now completely stretched out, taller than her as of this past summer (and oh did she ever cry over that to Andrea Uris), just now skimming his father’s nose with his fluff of curls. It was undeniable that Richie would certainly surpass Went’s height of six foot. Richie no longer sought out her approval before making his own decisions-- even though he probably should have now that he was slowly being exposed to more… adult situations. He was one to think  _ after _ he dove head-first into a situation that would definitely have less than ideal outcomes. 

Richie was impulsive. He was a total firecracker and went to situations with little to no thought. He didn’t like acknowledging rules or taking any cautionary measures. He was carefree and walked-- no sprinted to the beat of his own drum. He had always been a free spirit and that was something Maggie truly admired about her son. However, his disregard for authority and consequences is what worried her most about her son. This blatant dismissal of such factors is what made Richie growing up increasingly more stressful with each milestone he passed--and at this moment that stress was driving. 

Richie had gotten his learner’s permit not long after he turned fifteen. He was enrolled in an after school Driver’s Ed program that he took at the high school on days he did not have theater rehearsals for the winter musical which he’d again been lucky enough to score a significant part for. The classes were about two hours in length and taught kids the importance of safety on the road whilst utilizing various scare tactics in the form of gruesome car accidents featuring decapitated teens and other horror stories to terrify a bunch of kids into wearing seatbelts; but whatever works, Maggie supposed. 

The hard part was typically up to the parents--the driving part. They were responsible for taking Richie out on drives throughout Derry, in varying weather conditions, and logging the amount of hours he drove. It was something Maggie could not bring herself to really do. It was encouraged that they let their teens drive short distances when they had to drive somewhere together-- like the grocery store. Maggie, however, became a neurotic mess the minute Richie got behind the wheel.

She would watch him back the driver seat up as far as it could go to accommodate for his ridiculously long legs and then adjust his mirrors the way he’d been taught in class. Then he would pull the seat belt over his slender torso and turn the key into the ignition. At that, she would completely loser her shit and demand that he swap places with her. It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith in him but something in her wanted to gasp the minute he put his foot on the gas and would have her grasping for the infamously dubbed  _ “oh shit”  _ bar over her head. It was as if the moment her son attempted to move the car, all of her anxieties surged to the surface and she could do nothing to mask it. According to most of Richie’s friend’s moms, they acted in a similar manner. 

Her actions did nothing except stress Richie out and make him grip the wheel tight enough for his already pale knuckles to go a bright white which was not necessarily ideal for  _ anyone  _ in the car. He could not possibly drive safely with his mother acting like he was going to kill them just by simply pulling out of the driveway. So whenever it was the two of them, they always went through the formalities of him pretending he would drive before allowing her to take his place without question. No one, especially Richie, could get hurt if he didn’t drive and she knew that was sickly overprotective to some degree-- but maybe the pamphlets of car accidents he’d brought home after his class scared her more than she liked to admit.

Given that Maggie could not possibly stomach driving with Richie, the task had been shifted onto Went’s plate. It was slightly harder to find a free moment for him to drive with Richie as he did work full time at the practice, but they were attempting to make it work-- emphasis on the attempting part. Went’s time crunch wasn’t the main problem in teaching Richie. Teaching Richie was the main problem in teaching Richie. 

Richie was a notably intelligent kid. All of his teachers consistently remarked how they were frequently blown away by his academic success in each of his honor-placement classes. If it weren’t for his gym class, Richie would be number one in his class.  _ That  _ was something Maggie wanted him to mend in the next year, but getting Richie to exert any energy that was not on the back of his own bike or in the water of their pool or the quarry was like asking him to stop teasing Eddie; it would never happen. Until then, he would have to settle for second. 

The one complaint all teachers had about her son, however, was his inattentive, hyperactive, and loudmouthed nature. Sure, they became more accommodating and understanding once they realized he had ADHD which made focusing next to impossible and anxiety that he masked with his incessant chatter because he can’t fixate on his incessant panic if he is constantly cracking crude jokes and making a nuisance of himself. Despite this acknowledgement, it was understandable that Richie could be hard to teach and Maggie could sense the dread whenever she would first meet with a teacher when they first discovered they had the residential Trashmouth in their class. Sure, they almost all grew to adore her son despite having to write him up countless times, but Richie was not a particularly easy student.

And that was where Went was struggling. Richie’s pisspoor attention and nervous energy did not bode well with driving for starters. He could not for the life of him remember all the basic steps when it came to things like parallel parking or making a three-point turn. He absolutely sucked at merging and had one of the most severe cases of Lead Foot that Went had ever seen. Went had tried numerous times to be as patient as possible with his son. Went was always so good at accommodating for their son, but when it came to driving what became a two ton metal deathtrap whenever Richie was behind the wheel, patience was a virtue that he could not take the time to achieve for Richie was likely to kill the two of them if he did not manage to get a handle on this driving thing. 

This meant Went more often than not would have to yell at Richie whenever they were in the car. He often had to (loudly) tell him things like: “ _ DON’T STOP WHEN YOU’RE MERGING!” _ and _ “THIS ISN’T THE FUCKING INDIE 500 SLOW DOWN”  _ and _ “YOU’RE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF IF YOU DON’T FUCKING LOOK BEHIND YOU WHEN YOU’RE MAKING THIS TURN-- OH MY GOD WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR TURN SIGNAL RICHA-- NO THAT’S THE WINDSHIELD WIPERS.”  _

This inability to mesh with Richie’s learning preferences had caused someone of a rift between the two of them. Richie almost always finished these driving sessions a tearful mess while Went often lacked any color to his face and had to lay down for a solid thirty minutes before his heart stopped palpitating. Maggie attempted to serve as a mediator between the two and join them on a driving excursion, but all that happened was she ended up forcing Richie to pull over and then she took the wheel and drove them all home without a word from either her son or her husband. 

So, driving was taking quite a bit of work and like most things, a breaking point had to be met. 

“THERE ARE PEOPLE WITH A SIXTEENTH OF YOUR IQ BEHIND THE WHEEL RICHARD.” Went shouts as they storm in one day. Her husband is ashen and eyes wide.

“YOU DIDN’T SAY TO TURN THE WHEEL THAT WAY!” Richie screams back. His eyes are red and puffy. He’s clearly been crying. 

“IT’S COMMON SENSE, RICHIE. HOW ELSE DO YOU THINK YOU PULL OUT?”

“CLEARLY YOU DON’T KNOW HOW.” Richie argues, gesturing toward himself.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Maggie says gently. “What happened this time?”

“I had him practicing reversing out of the Freese’s parking lot and he nearly drove into what, six different street lights?”

“It was only four.” Richie mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It shouldn’t have been more than one!”

“WELL YOU DIDN’T SAY HOW TO TU--”

“Okay, let’s not yell. It’s okay.”

“He is never driving.” Went declares, throwing himself on the couch with a grunt. 

“That’s not fair!” 

“Okay, I think maybe having  _ us  _ try to teach him is not the best idea.” Maggie starts and Went gives a sporadic laugh at that and Richie merely grunts. “I think we need to pay someone to drive with him.”

“Gee thanks mom.” Richie growls. 

“It’ll just be better for your mental health--”

“And ours!” Went chimes in

“If you learn from someone who is more… qualified, sweetie. It’s not that we don’t want to help you or anything, we just struggle to teach you and learning to drive is really scary. You just worry us and learning from a worried teacher isn’t going to get you or us anywhere.”

“Except the morgue.”

“ _ Went.” _

“Alright, alright. Your mom is right. You’re a smart kid but driving is something that doesn’t always come easy.”

“It did for Bill and Bev.” Richie complains.

“Okay, well that’s them. They also don’t have an attention disorder and aren’t legally blind without glasses.” Went tells him. “You’ll get the hang of it but it’s better for all of us if you just learn from someone that’s not  _ us. _ ”

“Fine.” Richie grumbles. “I just don’t want them to yell at me.”

“I yelled at you?”

“Yeah, but I can yell back and not feel  _ as  _ bad.” Richie mutters.

“Oh hush up.” Went laughs, waving Richie over. Richie drags himself over and allows himself to be yanked into his peace offering in the form of a bear hug. “You’re going to be fine so as long as you listen to them and not fight every little thing they tell you.”

“I do no--”

“Yes you do. You're your father’s son.” Maggie says. 

xXx

**November 1991**

Richie starts driving with a man Maggie wants to call middle-aged, but because he’s only six years older than her, she refrains from thinking of him in such terms. So, he’s just a grey-haired man with a salt and pepper beard and a gut softened with age. He’s extremely kind and has taken Richie driving in a car he uses specifically for student drivers. It’s rather scuffed up and has a few minor dings and dents on it-- luckily none of which have been caused by Richie…  _ yet.  _

With this outside help, Richie was definitely getting the hang of driving much better than he had under the guidance of Maggie or Went. He no longer made potentially fatal mistakes whilst behind the wheel and never came home a hysterical mess. He had improved so much that Maggie had actually let him drive the two of them downtown to run some errands and she only reached for the “oh shit” bar a handful of times. As he slowly reached the required hours, Maggie and Went for equally confident that their son would be ready for his license come his 16th birthday which meant the two of them, unbeknownst to their son, had already started looking for a car best suited to their son’s needs. 

Initially, they were not certain if Richie would be responsible enough to adequately take care of a car, but they had given in to his desire to keep the kitten, Eduardo, from Mike’s farm. He had proven himself capable of caring for a living creature and despite occasionally forgetting to vacuum the couch in order to alleviate the irritation it caused Went’s allergies, Richie was a more than adequate cat-dad. If he could handle balancing his busy schedule of school, socializing, theater, and a living and breathing cat, it was safe to say that Richie was more than competent in handling a car they planned to give to him for his birthday. Plus, it was hard to harmonize their schedules with his and the places he wanted to go were not within riding distance of his bike he had long since outgrown but refused to exchange for a new one. Honestly, a car for Richie would be more of a blessing to  _ them  _ than him-- not that he needed to know that.

Truly, Richie was proving himself to be a decent driver; that is, when a legal adult was in the passenger seat next to him. All of their joy for their son’s rapidly improving skills were quickly diminished when he came into their room at three in the morning, tearful and holding Eduardo in his arms as a way of shielding himself from getting yelled at beyond a certain octave they all knew she and Went could easily achieve if the situation warranted it. This time it did. 

Richie had always snuck out of the house. It was something they’d been more than aware of since he was in his pre-teen years. Richie wasn’t particularly sneaky when he would attempt to slide out of one of their second-story windows. He had lost his footing and cut himself on their rose bushes, tried escaping through one of the back rooms and landed in the deep end of their pool, and had only once sprained an ankle trying to swing himself to the tree planted in their frontyard like some spidermonkey. 

They never got mad at him for it because they knew he only ever snuck off to Eddie’s place to hang out. This was becoming a more frequent occurrence as they were both bombarded with obligations pertaining to their individual extracurriculars and the influx of busy work that came with being high school sophomores. It wasn’t harmful and it was truly the only way they could get their alone time together without Sonia knocking their door down or the two of them skimping out on their other friends. 

Maggie knew they weren’t doing anything beyond enjoying each other’s company (not that she would be opposed to them doing something a tad more intimate as the two were quite literally the densest teenagers she’d ever encountered) and because of that, she never really saw reason to put a halt to it. Anyway, it was kind of funny to listen to Richie sneak out with him thinking he possessed any type of grace or agility when it came to slipping out the window to run or bike over to the Kaspbrak residence. 

What was not funny was Richie stealing their car keys when there was a torrential downpour one night and  _ driving  _ over to Eddie’s with absolutely no adult in the seat next to him. There really was no reason for Richie to drive to Eddie’s as they truly did not live that far apart, but Richie must have felt the need to flex his rapidly improving skills to Eddie by taking the Tozier car into the night. Maggie knew Eddie must have scolded the boy for it and listed the various dangers he could encounter by driving with nothing besides a learner’s permit. Richie would of course scoff and boast about how he was basically as good as any licensed driver on the road.

If that were the case, Richie would not have taken out their elderly neighbor, Mrs, Handley’s mailbox with the front end of their car. 

They’d managed to sleep through Richie sneaking out, driving away, and bashing in the neighboring mailbox but were soon woken up by the sound of their son’s sniffling and the pathetic mewling of Eduardo who Richie must have dragged out of his room as a fur-shield. 

“Mmmph.” Went grunted. Maggie was grateful that she and Went had both found it too chilly to shed their pajamas off. “Wuzzgoingon, Rich? Went slurs, blinking owlishly. 

“I-I’m sorry.” Richie stammers, breathing thin.

Maggie sits up, rubbing at her own eyes which are just starting to struggle to see clearly in the night so she flicks on her lamp. Her son is clearly shaken up and has the same torn expression he’s gotten on his face before admitting to breaking one of her vases or accidentally hammering a hole into the drywall whilst attempting to decorate his bedroom.

“What happened?” She asks, already dreading the answer.

“I-I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to try a-and it’s raining and I--”

“What happened, Rich?” Went says, the sleepiness in his voice now replaced with his more stern dad voice.

“I...I crashed your car into Mrs. Handley’s mailbox.” 

That was not something Maggie was expecting to hear come from her son.

“What?” She says, suddenly  _ very  _ awake, moving herself out of her bed.

“I didn’t mean to, I just…”

“Took the car without a license and without permission.” Went finishes for him, also getting up. “What the fuck, Richard?”

“I just wanted to try and I lost control and I tried that breaking thing but it was too late… the car is fine… it’s just her ma--”

“Richie, are you insane?” Maggie yells, already running down the stairs to assess the damage. She grabs her coat and slides it on over her pajamas and puts on a pair of shoes she’s left by the doorstep and runs out toward their smaller vehicle. Richie was not wrong in saying their car was fine. The paint appears somewhat chipped around their headlight but the same cannot be said for Mrs. Handley’s mailbox. It’s completely obliterated. She knows Richie, despite the instructor’s aid, still has somewhat of a lead foot and it’s truly no surprise that the mailbox has been damaged to this degree but that thought does nothing to ease not only the anger she feels for her son but the _fear_ of what else could have happened. Her stomach sinks as images of Richie thrown out of the windshield cross her mind. She really needs to get rid of those graphic pamphlets they were given at the first Driver’s Ed meeting. 

She distantly hears Went yelling at their son for being irresponsible and inconsiderate from the living room and Richie looks absolutely mortified as he cowers up against the couch.

“And put the fucking cat down, Richie.” Went snaps.

“N-No, you’ll yell louder if I do.”

“I’m already yelling!” 

“I don’t want you to hit me.” Richie nearly sobs, clutching the distressed cat closer to his chest. Eduardo is not used to being in the middle of familial disputes this loud. 

“WHEN HAVE I EVER HIT YOUR DUMBASS? DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU COULD HAVE DONE?” At this volume, Eduardo digs his claws into Richie’s skinny forearms, forcing the boy to let the cat hop away from his arms and to scamper off back to his little nest in Richie’s mess of a room. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“Richard, you--” Maggie starts

“YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED.” Went bellows. Maggie has never seen him get so worked up in his life but clearly this event is enough to have him blow up and she can’t blame him.

“What?” Richie seems confused by this. He’s more focused on the damage he could have caused to their car and the obvious wreckage to their neighbor’s mailbox. He didn’t even stop to consider the concern they feel about him driving around as an inexperienced teenager in these weather conditions. “But the car--

“You’re dumber than you look sometimes.” Went groans, his shoulders falling as the explosive nature of his frustration simmers down to one of exasperation and concern. “I don’t give a single fuck about the car. You could have fucking driven off the side of the road and the fact that you lost control? Richie that’s fucking terrifying for me to hear.”

“I-I” Richie stammers, clearly taken aback.

“You’re in so much fucking trouble.” Went groans, pulling Richie close and Richie is wide-eyed at that. 

“You can’t do stuff like that.” Maggie huffs out, approaching her boys. “You could have really been hurt.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounds genuine. “Really. I thought I could do it.”

“Maybe in a couple of months, sure.” Maggie says. “But now? You’ve barely just managed to get a hang of this.”

“It’s not safe.” Went sighs. “You’re lucky it’s only the mailbox… which you will be responsible for paying for.”

“I figured.” Richie laughs meekly. “Um, how? I don’t have a job and I don’t exactly have time unless you want me to quit theater or something.”

“We’re not going to make you do that, no.” Went tells him. God, no. If Richie quit his extracurriculars and was given excessive amounts of free time, there is no telling what he would manage to get up to. “You are grounded for at least a month which means your weekends will be  _ more than  _ available. So, you’re going to be pulling your weight around here until we deem you’ve covered whatever the cost of Mrs. Handley’s mailbox is. You’re also going to be going to the office every single day and cleaning. That means dusting the waiting room, sanitizing supplies, and doing whatever the hell I don’t want to.”

Richie nods, snorting at his father’s remark. “That’s reasonable.”

“There’s no question about that.” Maggie confirms. “You will also be going to Mrs. Handley tomorrow and tell her what happened.”

Richie squirms a little at that. Maggie knows how much he hates confrontation and how he has a guilt complex a mile wide. “Okay. I can do that.” 

“Alright. Now go to bed.” Went says. 

“Okay. I love you guys and I’m really sorry.”

“We love you too and we know you are.” 

“You just need to be more careful, Rich.” Went sighs. “Okay?”

“Okay. I will be. I promise.” He says, turning on his heel and heading up to this room.

“Jesus Christ.” Went groans, rubbing at his face. “I think I just lost ten years off my life.”

“He had  _ you  _ scared shitless.”

“Well, yeah Mags.” He scoffs. “That kid is an accident waiting to happen and I know  _ I  _ was a troublemaker for my parents but I was kinda hoping he would half-ass this stage and just I don’t know-- vandalize Sonia’s car or something because if he’s starting by stealing the car...  _ fuck,  _ we’re in for a rude awakening.”

“Oh definitely.” Maggie laughs, surprised that she’s the more collected one of the two of them. She kisses his cheek and wraps her arms around his soft middle, resting her chin on his broad chest. “We’re in over our heads with him, aren’t we?”

“For sure. He’s smart though. Don’t let him know I think that right now.” Went grumbles, gently pulling her off of him and up the stairs to their bedroom. “Scared the fucking daylights out of me.” He plops himself in their bed as she slips in next to him. “He has to fuck up sometims, I guess. They gotta learn somehow.”

“I would rather my son avoid the school of hard knocks, thank you.” Maggie mumbles

xXx

**January 1992**

Since Richie was currently set to be salutatorian come his graduation in the next two years (and wasn’t that terrifying for her to accept) with his disregard for P.E., he was more than set on letting himself be the  _ valedictorian _ of the school of hard knocks-- much to the dismay of Maggie and Went. He had long since worked off the payment for Mrs. Handley’s mailbox in the form of chores and other errands and was now back to his regularly scheduled social life. 

This simply meant he was up later and missing curfew more often than not which they let slide on occasion given his limited weeks of freedom now that he was done with the winter musical and didn’t have auditions for the spring one until the start of February. He’d been rather well-behaved since his incident back in November with a few minor exceptions. He had only had a few incidents of detentions for practical jokes at school and besides that he really hadn’t gotten in trouble again nor had he almost risked his life attempting to drive-- which was now going extremely well. 

Went and Maggie had both taken him out to drive through the snow a few times as it would be something he needed to get used to for as long as he lived in Maine; which wouldn’t be long according to Richie. He was hellbent on getting the fuck out of Derry as soon as he could and neither she nor Went could blame the kid. They hadn’t researched it much since the dreadful summer of ‘89, but it was still an idea they toyed with now and again. 

Although it was never safe to fully relax with a teenager in the house, especially if that teenager was as unpredictable as Richie, Maggie found herself in a state of bliss since Richie truly expressed that he really understood why they were so worked up over him crashing into the mailbox. It was also because not long after his incident, a group of Bangor kids ended up getting in a car accident over winter break. Luckily, no one was killed and reports stated that the worst injury was a broken foot; but it was scary enough news for Richie to see why his parents were so terrified of him doing something stupid behind the wheel. 

Since he learned that lesson, Maggie and Went had already started making payments on a truck they deemed to fit Richie’s rather peculiar tastes. A friend of Went’s was selling the thing and agreed to keep it at their place until Richie’s 16th birthday finally rolled around. It didn’t have a lot of miles on it and had plenty of storage for whatever costumes he would have for future plays and plenty of room to stuff all of his friends inside for their own excursions. 

They were second guessing their decision of letting their son get a car when he decided to get his dumbass arrested in broad daylight.

Schools in Maine were not known for closing due to snow storms. It was survival of the fittest when it came to enduring the weather. Everyone knew to get their snow tires ready by the time October came around and no student ever anticipated snow days. The kids had only one week of snow days when Richie was still in elementary school that Maggie could recall. That was simply because a pipe had busted as a result of the freezing temperatures. A similar occurrence happened now when the power lines decided to collapse under the weight of the ice that had settled on the wires which left the school pitch black and full of screaming kids when they were suddenly enveloped in darkness.

Because of this, all students were immediately sent home. Luckily it was a Friday and that meant the kids would probably just have a slightly longer weekend while someone worked on repairs over the next few days. 

Maggie had received the call whilst at the office but knew Richie had taken his bike (despite her wishes) to school that day and should be able to get home on his own. If he couldn’t, he had made friends with more than enough of the upperclassmen in his theater group that one of them could  _ carefully  _ drive him home. Unfortunately, Richie did find a ride and instead of going straight home, he decided to try and break into a recently closed gas station in  _ broad daylight.  _ Truly, Richie was not made for the life of crime seeing as he was a complete moron. 

“Thank you for calling Tozier Dental, this is Margaret Tozier speaking. How may I help you?” Maggie speaks into the phone whilst settled behind the desk. There’s a lull in clients as they have just received an abundance of cancellations from adults that are now being forced to fetch their younger children from the school. 

“M-mom?” Richie stutters on the phone. A chill runs up her spine as she catches the tone in his voice. He  _ should  _ be home by now and she’s plagued with thoughts of things that could have gone wrong at the house. Is Eduardo hurt? Is Richie hurt? 

“Richie? Honey, are you okay?”

“I’m calling from the… I’m in JDC, mom. They said I could call you.” He sniffles. 

“Why are you there, sweetie? What happened?” She’s immediately overwhelmed by the possibility that one of the bigoted people in this town have gotten a hold of her son and she is already sliding her coat on.

“I got arrested for breaking into the Shell gas station with Jeremy and Dillon.” He stammers.  _ That’s  _ not what she had expected to hear. “I’m so sorry mom.”

“Richie… oh my God.” She groans. “I’ll be there soon. Okay?”

He’s crying now. “They said I have to stay the weekend here, mom!” Makes sense. They can’t possibly process any bail money at this time of day just before a weekend. He’s going to be stuck there until Monday morning at best. 

“Okay, I understand. I’ll be there to see you soon, though okay?” 

“Okay. I have to go now.” He sniffles. 

She’s beyond furious with him but she can tell that he’s absolutely terrified right now. Richie is a troublemaker but he doesn't belong in a juvenile detention center. She can say the same for the other two boys as well. She met both of them during the production of  _ Anything Goes  _ this past winter where Richie was granted the part of Billy Crocker. They’re both seniors and were nothing but polite to her son and her when she met them after the production. Truly this is a case of not thinking and being at the wrong place at the wrong time but this does nothing to diminish the anger building deep inside of her.

She slides on her coat and heads into Went’s office where he is currently reorganizing files for all the cancellations they had experienced today.

“How clear are we for the rest of the day?” She asks.

“I was actually going to suggest we just close early today. All my appointments have been cancelled today for the weather and the schools closing.”

“Sounds good. We need to go to the youth detention center.”

“Wait why?” Went sits up immediately startled.

“Richie got arrested.” She informs him. 

“ _ WHAT _ ?!” He exclaims, suddenly on his feet and reaching for his own jacket. 

“Breaking and entering.”

“That fucking… Jesus Christ.” Went groans. “Can you take care of closing the desk for me? I’ll get the car ready. Fuck.” 

xXx

They manage to close down the office in record time. They talk to an officer about the situation and get full details about Richie’s situation before they are allowed to meet with him before visiting hours are completely over. Apparently, Richie and his friends decided it was a smart idea to break down the boards of the recently closed Shell station. It was to be renovated in the near future but until then it was entirely out of commission. Despite this, however, the place was fully stocked and apparently Dillon admitted to knowing this and had mentioned it to Jeremy and Richie earlier that day and since they were getting out of school early, the boys decided to raid the place.

They had stuffed a duffle with cartons of cigarettes, alcohol, and various sugary snacks (definitely for Richie) into the bag and had made a break for it. Unfortunately, none of the boys had a lick of common sense to realize that breaking into a gas station during normal working hours was an incredibly stupid idea. A neighboring business called the police and as the boys were driving away from the gas station, they were pulled over and each booked right there and then. The boys would all be subject to charges for breaking and entering, possession of alcohol and nicotine as minors, and the cost of the damaged boards that they’d broken in order to get into the gas station in the first place. 

They could attempt to fight it in court, but Maggie and Went truly saw no reason for it. It was obvious that their son was guilty and they simply accepted to pay whatever fines were necessary and accepted the terms of community service that Richie would inevitably be subject to. He would need to face the consequences of his action and they were not going to try and cover it up. Luckily, Richie was a minor and everything would be expunged from his record on his eighteenth birthday so he would not have to worry about this misdemeanor following him into his adult life. 

Their only fear was his friends’ parents (primarily Sonia) finding out about it and not being keen about letting their children around Richie anymore. Luckily, Richie and the other boys were still minors and their names would not be featured in any upcoming news reports regarding the situations. 

After they address all the logistics of the situation and express compliance for upcoming payments, they find themselves being escorted toward a meeting room where an abundance of other kids, that look significantly more rough than her son, sit clearly disinterested in their situation. Some are sitting in chairs, talking to their own family members and others are on the verge of yelling at their family members. The guard guides them toward the back of the room where Richie sits next to Jeremy whose parents probably haven’t had the chance to swing by yet. 

Jeremy appears calm, but Richie, ever the emotional one, is crying quietly into his hands while Jeremy pats his shoulder and mumbles words of comfort to her boy. Maggie is eternally grateful for his presence at that moment. 

“Richard, your family is here.” The bland faced guard says, drawing Richie out of his emotional state. 

“Hi Richie.” Maggie says sternly.

“Mom? Dad?” He gasps and he looks positively wrecked. His face is pale, his eyes are red, and he’s already been forced to change into the standard grey sweats all the other teens are currently sporting. They clearly are not ones to accomodate for anyone’s awkward sizing if the shortness of the pants and the loose fit of the sweatshirt are any indication. Dignity is not something any of these adolescents are given. 

“You really messed up this time, huh?” Went starts. There is no point in yelling at him  _ here.  _ Richie is already mortified at his situation and will face plenty of punishment later on. 

“I'm sorry.” He immediately blubbers, wrapping his arms around his mother. “I wasn’t… I didn’t think…”

“That you’d get caught.” Maggie sighs, running her fingers through his messy hair. He definitely does not belong here but he deserves to learn from his actions. 

He nods silently, crying harder into her neck which only serves to have a few annoyed glares shot their way from some of the less remorseful children. Others share similar expressions of distress as they have probably expressed similar emotions to Richie when they first got here and attempt to avoid meeting eye contact with the Toziers. 

“It’s okay. You’re going to be able to go home on Monday morning, okay?” Went reassures him, the anger leaving his voice. He can save his fatherly scolding for then. 

Richie nods, sniffling loudly. “I’m in a room with this kid that used to be friends with B-Bowers and he’s been a real dick.”

Maggie looks at Went. “Can we do anything about that?”

Went shakes his head. “They really don’t care what goes on behind the scenes. As long as he’s not being physically violent, he’s kinda stuck with him.” 

“Is he hurting you?”

“No. Just shoving me around and he knows all the other rumors so he’s been threatening me about all that stuff.” Richie mumbles, wiping at his eyes from under his glasses. “I’m really sorry.” 

“We can tell. Trust me.” Went says, hugging Richie close. “You’re so stupid sometimes, you know what? I always hoped you wouldn’t be as dumb as you looked because if you were we’d be positively screwed but shit kid…you’re really as dumb as you look.”

“Shut up.” Richie laughs around a hiccup. His face falls a little. “Am I a bad person?”

“What? No.” Maggie immediately tells him. “You’re just a moron. You did something stupid, okay? It’s not your first time.”

“And it’s definitely not the last.” Went adds. 

“You’re a nice boy and so are your friends. You just… you had a lapse of judgement and now you have to pay the price for it.” 

Richie nods quietly. “I know.”

“You’re in so much trouble once you’re out of here, you know that right?” Went asks him.

“I figured.” Richie sighs. “I am sorry.”

“We know.”

They sit with Richie for a while, discussing what is to happen come Monday when he gets out of this place. They attempt to reassure his anxieties surrounding the fact that he’s stuck here for the next 48+ hours. He’s still clearly distraught, but is visibly soothed by their presence and words once visiting hours come to an end. He bids them a shaky farewell before waving them goodbye and returning to the room he’s forced to share with some bigoted asshole. 

xXx

Richie nearly sobs tears of joy when Maggie and Went are able to post his bail and get him out of JDC. They were not allowed to visit him over the weekend and it is clear that this weighed on him while he was stowed away. His eyes are heavy with dark circles and his cheeks seem somewhat hollowed suggesting that he probably skipped a meal or two whilst locked away. He was not some hardened juvie case and definitely would not be making a return there… if he managed to actually learn something from the experience. 

Their wallets felt a minor dent from his bail, but it was nothing a few days of work could not cover for them. Richie was obviously set to work his debt off by helping them out and performing community service as instructed by the parole officer in charge of his case. It wasn’t too much and could easily be completed over weekends and through the summer. So as long as he completed it by the end of a full calendar year. 

Richie was definitely subject to a rather loud, stern talking to once they got him home. As expected, he ended up crying and stumbling over apologies while holding little Eduardo to his chest. Richie was more than capable of handling arguments when it came to bullies, but the minute she or Went expressed any type of disappointment in him, he never lasted more than thirty seconds before breaking down. 

This is why they never were ones to resort to yelling at their son. It didn’t yield optimal results and they typically found that he expressed a better understanding of what he did whenever they talked things through in a more mature manner. Sure, they raised their voice at him in situations where it was deserved (getting arrested fell under that category) but even then after Richie expressed his own fears, they were quick to shift their tone and talk him through the wrong of his situation. 

After being arrested, yelled at, and talking about the incident, it was very clear to both Maggie and Went that Richie learned his lesson and they no longer had to worry about him trying to steal from anyone or anywhere anytime soon. He was incredibly apologetic for his actions and showed no hesitation in showing them just that. He even went as far as contacting the owner of the Shell and apologizing-- with their help of course.

She and Went both discussed whether or not he should still be given his truck come his birthday and saw no reason to hold off-- especially given the fact that they were nearly done paying Went’s friend off for it. Plus, if Richie had his own vehicle, he would be less likely to hitch rides from others and allow himself to fall into such shenanigans again-- not that the other boys were to blame. Richie was being held more than accountable for his actions and was to serve a grounding that was not to be lenient by any stretch and Richie was wise to not question that or push his limits.

xXx

**May 1992**

Richie was nearly done with all of his community service and had long since finished the sentencing of his grounding. He was back in the swing of his usual antics of running around with his friends-- now more easily executed now that he, Bev, Bill, and Mike could all drive. Ben and Stan wouldn’t have his license for a couple months and Eddie was in the midst of learning how to drive from the same instructor that Richie had used. Of course, this was being funded by the Toziers as Sonia blatantly refused to let Eddie drive because she was scared that he was going to get himself killed.

Maggie could not necessarily question her thought process there as she had the same beliefs, but she would never prevent Richie from achieving such a vital part of his emerging adulthood. She believed it was important for all teenagers to evolve into their own independent lives and one of the best ways for them to start that journey was by driving. Sonia Kaspbrak wanted to hold her son back in all facets of life and that meant depriving him from such attempts at becoming his own person. Luckily, like he was still hiding his success as the district’s best mid-distance runner, he was also easily hiding the fact that the Toziers were helping him learn to drive. This was a rather simple task, much to their surprise. Eddie was an extremely relaxed driver and seemed to find his own niche behind the wheel. Maggie had no doubts that he would get his license on the very first try. The same could not be said for Richie. 

He, like most freshly turned sixteen year olds, went to the DMV on his “special day,” expecting to walk out of the building with his official ticket to drive. That had not been the case. Instead, he left the test with tears of frustration running down his face. He had failed the test and because of this, Maggie had to quickly call Went and ask him to have his truck taken back to his friend’s place so as to not upset their son. He did not end up receiving the truck as his own until he passed the test-- on the third try.

Now, he was much more confident and careful behind the wheel. They obviously still worried anytime he went out, but the concern was at a low level as it was clear that he knew what he was doing now. Because of this, Richie more often than not drove himself everywhere. He still occasionally rode his rusty old bike to any of his friends’ houses or to the quarry as a way to exercise his legs but for the most part all of his travels were made (with her and Went’s permission) in his truck.

Richie had successfully landed the lead in  _ The Music Man  _ as Harold Hill. Bev ended up with a minor supporting role this time around, but found that she was more skilled in the costuming department. She ended up taking the lead in designing all of the cast’s costumes and Maggie could see the enhanced quality in this performance with her hand in the mix in comparison to the previous shows Richie had been in.

He had done a phenomenal job on all three nights despite the way tech week had ruthlessly wore him down as per usual. He was not nearly as beaten down as he had been last year as he was more educated as to how to truly handle taking care of his body anytime his immunity took a dip and despite attending all of Ben and Eddie’s track meets and Stan and Bill’s baseball games, he was sure to open up space for himself to get an adequate amount of rest. 

On the final night as he ran to hug his boisterous group of Losers and his parents, it was clear that he was already getting the telltale scratch of Theater Crud rasping at his throat. Maggie already knew that Richie would most likely need to take a day or so off in the next week if he wanted to make it to States for Eddie. 

“You did so good!” She tells him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Thanks!” He says and his voice cracks as he attempts to speak above a whisper. 

“We’re really proud of you.” Went tells him, grinning at his son who is now almost at perfect eye level with him. 

“You were really good, Rich.” Eddie says, hugging him quickly before stepping back, his cheeks flushed a bright red. “You were too Bev!”

“Oh yes, sweetie.” Maggie says. “And the costumes are phenomenal!”

“Yeah, you’re the first person to ever dress a real life praying mantis.” Stan says, poking Richie in the ribs. 

“Oh fuck you.” Richie giggles.

“It wasn’t an easy task.” Bev snorts. 

“So mom the cast party…”

“Yes, I get it.” She laughs. “Just be careful and be home no later than midnight.”

“Of course!” He says, beaming excitedly. “I’ll see you tonight!” He gives her and Went another fast hug before running off out to the rest of the cast to figure out directions to whatever home that will inevitably be trashed by a bunch of teens. 

xXx

Richie does not make it home by midnight. They aren’t overly stunned by this as he is at a party. Sure, there is some concern deep in their guts but it’s easy for him to lose track of time anytime he’s having fun. They’ll be sure to reprimand him for his lack of punctuality, but there is truly no reason for them to explode over him staying out late on a Saturday night. He’s done this before and they know he’ll make it home within the hour. Or at least that’s what was expected.

They decide to engage in their own activities before realizing he’s almost an hour late. Maggie slips on a t-shirt of Went’s and her own pajama pants while he dresses himself and goes to grab for a phone to start making some calls in order to find out if Richie went home with one his friends and fell asleep while having one of their as-deep-as-it-can-get-when-you’re-sixteen nightly talks as he has before in the past. Just as she’s dialing the Uris’s phone, she hears the deep voice of Mike Hanlon from their open bedroom window.

“Dude come on… you have to stand.” Mike laments in a stage-whisper.

Maggie looks at Went and creeps up to the window where she is met with a rather  _ interesting  _ sight. 

Mike Hanlon is attempting to carry her son’s rather limp body to no avail. He’s grunting loudly as he attempts to maneuver her son’s skinny ass toward the door and for a moment she’s worried something bad has happened to Richie to leave him in such a state. Then Richie opens his mouth and everything makes sense. 

“I don’t gotta do shit Micycle.” Richie slurs. He falls into a fit of giggles.

“Richie c’mon man. We need to get you inside.”

“I don’t wanna. It’s so pretty out. The stars are like freckles for the sky Mikey. Eddie has freckles”

“Yes he does. He told me to get you to bed so let’s go to bed, buddy. Okay?”

“No. I want to… I want to be outside!” Richie snorts, attempting to wriggle away from Mike as they walk toward the front door. 

Maggie turns to Went. 

“He’s hammered.” Went says, clearly stating the obvious.

“Oh definitely.” She sighs. “Let’s go get his stupid ass.” 

The two of them make it down the stairs just as Mike finally manages to get the front door open. Richie has almost all of his weight upon Mike and his eyes are wildly unfocused behind his lenses. 

“Oh shit.” Richie giggles. 

“Um Hi Mrs. Tozier.” Mike smiles shyly. “I promise I’m 100% sober. I didn’t have anything tonight and I just wanted to make sure he got home okay.”

“Oh honey you’re fine. We’ll phone your grandfather if you’d like. You’re more than welcome to stay the night here.”

“I would really appreciate that. I don’t want to take Richie’s truck from him.”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Richie cackles. “I want my horn to do  _ that.  _ “

They all elect to ignore Richie’s ramblings. “We appreciate you getting him home.” Maggie says just as Went takes their son off of Mike’s shoulders. Richie stumbles a bit, holding onto Went’s arms like a child.

“Hi daddy-o.” He snorts. 

“Hey there bud.” Went smirks. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fucking great.” 

“How much did he have Mike?”

“Uh… I’m not sure. He was drinking beer and then someone got out the vodka and I swear he thought the stuff was water. ”

“Oh he’s gonna be sick for sure.” Went laughs. “Beer before liquor?”

“Never sicker.” Maggie sighs. 

“I feel fine.” Richie garbles around a wet sounding hiccup. 

“Oh not for long.” Went says. 

“My dad’s got a fifth sense, Mike.” Richie blathers, clearly too out of it to realize the error in his words.

“We didn’t realize he was drinking so much but then he nearly fell down the stairs. Eddie and Bill caught him though.”

“That’s good and don’t worry about it. It’s not your responsibility to watch him. I just appreciate you all looking out for our little idiot.” Maggie reassures the nervous looking boy as she approaches her son. She scrunches her nose immediately. She would expect him to reek exclusively of booze but instead there is an intense floral scent wafting from his breath. She’ll have to find out about that later.

“When was the last time he ate?” Went questions aloud as he shifts Richie’s body marginally, eliciting a groan from the boy. 

Maggie looks at Mike.

“Uh they had some snacks at the party but I don’t think he had any.” 

“We should get something in his system before he starts getting sick.” Went decides. “Grab some bread… and would you like anything Mike?”

“I’m good. I’ll have water though if that’s okay.”

Maggie nods. “I think Richie should have some water too.”

“Oh my God!” Richie starts, laughing hysterically. “I  _ love _ water.”

“Do you now?” Maggie says as she runs into the kitchen to grab a few pieces of bread, a bag of pretzels, and two bottles of water. She returns and Went has Richie supported against him as they each sit on the couch. Richie is currently going on and on about how much he absolutely  _ adores  _ water.

She hands Mike his own water as he watches her own boy with an amused expression. She uncaps the bottle for him and pushes it toward his lips, not trusting his hands. 

“Hey mama.” Richie says before he moves to drink the water. His eyes are wide with excitement and his mouth is twisted into his straightened tin grin. “Did you know that water is better for you than alcohol?”

She nearly drops the bottle at that as she is overcome with laughter. “Oh is it?”

“Yeah!” He exclaims, taking a steady gulp of his water and letting out a ridiculous moan as the cool liquid slides down his throat. “It does so many good things for you. It… hydrates you and helps your eyeballs and your digestion.” He continues to inform the three of them about the endless benefits of water, unaware of the way the water dribbles out of his mouth when he gets a little too animated with his fascination for water.

“That’s really interesting, Richie.” Went tells him as Richie suddenly becomes more pliable in his arms. 

“Mmmm.” Richie says, eyes rolling back as Maggie puts a piece of bread toward his mouth. He opens his mouth and chews manically at it but he doesn't swallow. 

“Richie, swallow it.” Went tells him.

“No.” He grumbles. 

“Sweetie you gotta eat it.” 

“I don’t…” He opens his mouth revealing a disgusting mess of half-chewed bread and lets it fall off his tongue and into his lap. He starts shaking his head rapidly and his cheeks lose all color. 

“Get him in the bathroom.  _ Now _ .” Maggie says.

“Got it.” Went says, lifting Richie up and basically carrying him up the stairs and to the bathroom. 

Maggie winces as the sound of Richie retching fills the entire house. “Jesus.”

“Is he gonna be sick for a while?” Mike asks.

“Definitely.” Maggie sighs. “Now, I have to ask you… why does he smell like… flowers?” 

Mike snorts at that. “Okay that’s actually a  _ really  _ funny story.” 

“What happened?” She wonders if he ended up making out with someone who decided dousing themselves in perfume was the only way to attract a potential hookup. 

“Uh so we were in this kid’s bathroom… like all of us were just hanging in there for a while. Someone pointed to this bottle and it looked really fancy and they asked if it was whiskey or perfume. So Richie didn’t even hesitate. He just took the cap off and drank the entire thing and then he looked at all of us and said  _ it’s perfume  _ and then walked out.” 

“Oh God.” Maggie laughs. “He’s something else.”

“Yeah. I’m really sorry though. None of us knew he was  _ this  _ bad.”

“Oh honey, it’s fine. You got him home in one piece and I’m grateful for that. He’s going to be paying the price for it tonight,” Richie groans loudly from the bathroom as emphasis. “and tomorrow morning.” 

“I bet.” Mike agrees.

“Now, you can sleep in his room. I doubt he’s going to make it back there anytime tonight and if he does end up calming down we’ll put him on our floor tonight with a bucket so we can watch over him.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course, sweetie. Do you have pajamas here?”

“I think I left some here last time I was here.”

“Alright, that’s perfect.” She pulls the boy into a hug, pressing a motherly kiss to his forehead. “Thank you for getting him here safely. You get some rest. We’ll try to keep him as quiet as possible for you.” 

“Thank you Mrs. Tozier.” Mike says. “Goodnight and uh, good luck.”

“Thank you sweetie.” Maggie leaves a voice message for his grandfather letting him know that Mike is safe and was kind enough to get Richie home in one piece and that they will be sure to get home sometime tomorrow morning.

She then makes her way to their bathroom where she finds Went holding Richie’s head over the toilet as it’s obvious he is incapable of supporting his head at the moment. He has since removed Richie’s glasses and placed them on the sink.

“Your son drank perfume.” Maggie informs him as she shuts the door and sits herself on the edge of the tub. 

“Explains the smell.” Went snorts.

“Ugh.” Richie moans into the toilet bowl, his shoulders lurching forward as another round of vomiting takes over his body. 

“Is he going to be okay?” She asks worriedly.

“Oh yeah.” Went reassures her. “I saw way worse in my fraternity days. He’s just going to be really sick for a while. He’s too skinny to drink however much he decided to have.”

Richie whines indignantly at that before retching again.

“I take it that this is his punishment?” Maggie asks.

“Oh yeah.” Went chortles, rubbing his free hand in between Richie’s shoulder blades. 

xXx

Maggie and Went end up holding Richie over the toilet for a solid two hours before the constant stream of puking finally comes to a halt. He’s listless and clearly dehydrated. They force a toothbrush into his mouth and manage to scrub his mouth clean before helping him take a few slow but hearty sips of water. His stomach continues to spasm, unaware that there’s nothing more to bring up and he’s just left to whine pathetically as they set him up on their bedroom floor. 

With each other’s help, they manage to strip him out of his clothes and into a pair of warmer pajamas. Maggie almost wants to take him to the ER but Went reassures her that he is not exhibiting any signs of alcohol poisoning and just needs to keep drinking the water which is certainly better than the alcohol he drank like a fish. Went makes sure to situate him on his side in order to prevent the risk of Richie asphyxiating on his own vomit with a stack of pillows that prevents him from rolling onto his back. Maggie grabs a bucket from under the kitchen sink and lays it next to his head just in case. 

The two of them don’t really fall back into a deep sleep cycle and find themselves easily waking up at any sound that comes from their son-- typically whimpers as his body succumbs to the aches of an impending hangover from satan himself. He only ends up waking up to dry heave once and unconsciously grabs the water near his bucket and chugs the rest of that before falling asleep for the rest of the night. Truly, they’re both worried that something is going to go wrong and refuse to let themselves sleep through that. 

Finally, as the sun is high in the sky and they accept there is no use in attempting to fall into a half-assed version of sleep, they get themselves up and out of bed. Maggie squats down to Richie and makes sure that he’s still breathing steadily before following Went down the stairs. They each start breakfast, making sure to whip up some extra pancakes for Mike, the real savior of the night. 

Mike ends up coming down just as they finish setting the table, eyes wide and vibrant with a full night’s rest. It’s not like him to get this much sleep when he’s on the farm. “Morning Mrs and Mr. T.”

“Hi Mikey.” Went greets, a tired grin on his face.

Maggie sets a plate of pancakes in front of the boy which he happily accepts. 

“How’s Richie doing?”

“He’s still asleep.” Maggie tells him. “He had a rough night.”

“I bet.” Mike nods. 

“Thank you again for getting his ass home last night.” Went says. “I’ll be sure to drop you off once Lazy Bones gets up.”

“Thank you again for everything.”

“It’s the least we can do.”

“And speak of the idiot,” Went says as Richie walks into the kitchen holding a blanket around his shoulders like a cape. The sunken state of his eyes is emphasized by the magnifying effect of his glasses. His hair is a tangled mess and his mouth is twisted in a grimace as he looks at the food before him. He still has a tinge of green around his cheeks and Maggie knows if he had managed to get any of that bread down last night, it would be coming up right now. 

“Mmmph.” Richie says, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and sipping slowly at it as he sits across from Mike. “Thanks for last night… and I’m sorry.”

“It was nothing.” Mike shrugs. “You were kind of funny to watch until you got sick.” 

“I’m sure you feel really sorry now, huh?” Maggie says, placing a plate of unbuttered toast in front of him. “Eat.”

He nods tiredly, putting the toast in his mouth like it’s the very last thing he wants to do right now. He nibbles at it slowly, swallowing thickly to repress his gag reflex. He finishes the most miniscule of portions of the bread before turning his attention to his water.

Mike snorts as Richie makes an involuntary sound of gratitude for the cool drink. Richie cocks his eyebrow at him, immediately wincing as the motion clearly tightens the vice around his head.

“What?” He asks.

“Did you know water is better for you than alcohol?” Mike asks behind a chuckle and Maggie and Went both end up choking on their own laughter.

“Uh?”

“You say interesting stuff when you’re drunk, man.” Mike informs him, a grin on his face. “You’re  _ never  _ living that one down. I can’t wait to tell the others about that.”

Richie just groans and continues sipping at his water.

“You’re lucky, Rich.”

“I know.”

“No I mean you’re lucky that I’m not gonna do to you what my dad did to me when I was a  _ quarter  _ as plastered as you were last night.” Went snorts.

“Oh be nice to him.” Maggie says, rubbing a hand across Richie’s hunched shoulders. “He’s sick.”

“He’s hungover.” Went corrects. “There’s a difference.”

“What did your dad even do?” Maggie asks.

“Well, when I woke up with a hangover that’s probably not nearly as bad as the one you’re nursing, he made me put gym clothes on and took me to the high school and run suicides for an hour.”

“Didn’t you get sick?” Maggie asks, almost horrified.

“Oh yeah.” Went laughs. “The Tozier rite of passage is what he called it. I won’t force it on you… this time.”

“Richie throws up anytime we run in gym class.” Mike tells them.

“Do not.” He argues feebly, wrapping his arm around his middle. “Can we stop talking about getting sick?”

“Alright, alright.” Maggie says, grabbing some cat food as Eduardo slides into the kitchen. 

“I’m really sorry.” Richie attempts, shoving his toast away after barely finishing his first piece.

“I know you are. Trust me.” Went says.

“Did I say or uh do anything dumb last night?” Richie asks after a long pull from his water.

“Uh what’s the last thing you remember?” Mike questions. 

“Um… I think pong?” Richie says more as a question than anything. 

“You did drink a bottle of perfume.”

“I did what?”

“Yeah.” Mike nods. “It was pretty funny. You also were talking about all of us for a while and how you loved us and then… it was weird.”

“Um what?”

“You said someone was cute and out of your league but you… you didn’t play baseball and how that was a metaphor or a simile or something.” 

Maggie and Went share a knowing glance and can perfectly picture their son slurring over a specific friend of his. 

Richie’s cheeks immediately flush red. “Uh who?”

“You didn’t say a name. You just kept saying how cute they were.” Mike shrugs. “Why, does trashmouth have a crush?”

“No.” Richie says too quickly and then winces as pain shoots through his skull. “As long as that’s all I did.”

“Oh, that’s  _ all. _ ” Went guffaws. 

“Mmph.” Richie grunts, laying his head in his arms. 

“I can get you home if you’re ready Mike.” Went offers, taking Mike’s cleared plate off to the sink.

“Yeah. That would be great Mr. Tozier.”

“Richie, you can go back up to bed if you want… but we’re going to talk about this later.” Maggie says.

“Meh.” He mutters. “Thanks Mikey.” He says genuinely, giving the best hug he possibly can with his blanket cape limiting his arm movements. “See ya.”

“Bye Rich.” Mike follows Went out the door and Richie drags himself back to his own bedroom.

xXx

Maggie and Went, not having slept much the night before, end up napping together on the couch once Went returns from dropping Mike off at the Hanlon’s farm. Richie doesn’t come down until well past noon and when he does descend down the steps he looks significantly better than he had that morning. He’s still a little peaky but that can be attributed to the dehydration that he’s most likely still suffering from and the lack of food in his system. 

“He’s alive.” Went says from his spot on the couch.

“Hi.” He says, no longer dragging a blanket around but dressed in a pair of fresh pajamas. 

“Feeling better?” Maggie asks him but she already knows the answer.

He nods quietly. “My stomach is still a bit off but honestly I think I’m just nervous.”

“Probably both.” Went says. “You won’t feel the best till at least tomorrow. I was afraid you wouldn’t get a hangover to be honest.”

“Wait why?”

“Sometimes young people, especially ones with your metabolism, manage to avoid them until their late 20s so they just drink like a fish until it finally hits them.”

“I wish.” Richie grumbles, laying across the loveseat, his feet dangling off the edge.

“Well, this just means we don’t have to punish you that much.” Went shrugs. “But you do need to know what you did was stupid and wrong.”

“I know.” Richie sighs.

“I understand that you’re going to do stupid shit like this. I know you have and I’m glad you have friends to back you up but you need to be smarter about this kind of stuff, Rich.” Went explains slowly.

“You’re really lucky you have the friends that you do, honey. It could have been a lot worse. Alcohol isn’t a joke.”

“I know. I’m not some alcoholic just because I drank.” Richie bites back. 

Maggie huffs out a breath, rolling her eyes. “I’m not saying  _ that,  _ Richie. I’m saying you need to watch yourself. You’re underage first of all and you can’t afford to get into legal trouble,  _ again.”  _

“I know.” He sighs.

“I don’t think you do.” Went argues. “You can’t pull shit like this, Rich. We love you and messing with stuff like this can be really dangerous. How do you think we’d feel if you tried to drive last night and got someone or yourself killed? Or if you drank too much and died from alcohol poisoning?”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Exactly. You need to watch yourself and think before you do shit like this.” Went says. “You don’t always have to learn the hard way, Richie.”

“Even though you seem so hellbent on learning that way.” Maggie snorts. 

“I’m really sorry. I was just having fun.”

“I understand but please don’t do something like this again and if you know you’re going to drink, give us your keys. We would have taken you there and picked you up.”

“But I don’t want to get in--”

“Are we even yelling at you? Went interrupts. “No. We’re not.”

Richie is quiet at that.

“You need to straighten up and--”

“I can’t do that and you know that.” Richie giggles.

Went sighs, biting his lip to hide the smile that threatens to wipe away the mildly stern expression across his face. “We just want you to be smarter about this, okay? You can trust us and we want to be able to trust you but you’ve been making that kind of difficult lately.”

“We give you a lot of rope, sweetie. We’re giving you inches, but you keep taking miles. You can’t do that to us or we’re going to have to start being stricter with you. We know you’re smarter than this. 

Richie nods, eyes downcast as guilt clearly washes through him. “I am really sorry. I don’t… I don’t want to upset you guys or make you think you can’t trust me.”

“All we ask is you start using that brain of yours. Is that too much to ask?”

“No.” Richie shakes his head. “I uh love you guys and I really will try to not be a fuck up.”

“You’re not a fuck up, Richie.” Maggie sighs. “We’re not trying to make you think that. You did fuck up, yeah but that doesn’t mean you are one. You were just careless. Just start trying to think a little more, okay? You need to see where we’re coming from-- you scare us sometimes.”

“I understand.” He says genuinely. “I’ll work on it.”

“That’s all we ask for, Rich.” Went tells him.

“Um… thanks for helping me last night.” He stammers. 

“Wasn’t the highlight of our time as parents.” Went chuckles. “Thought I was done holding you while you spit up when you were back in diapers.” 

Richie goes a bright red at that and groans into his hands. 

“I think it’s safe to say the way you felt last night and today are a great bulk of your punishment.” Maggie starts. “But you are grounded this week.”

His head immediately shoots up. “But Eddie goes to States this weekend.”

“We know. We’re  _ all _ going to that, so of course you’re coming to that because we’re not trusting you to stay in this house by yourself. But you won’t be hanging with your friends this week. You’ll be doing your usual chores.” Maggie informs him.

“And we can start now,” Went says, grinning. “by cleaning the upstairs bathroom you desecrated last night.” 

“Fair.” Richie sighs, walking to the kitchen to grab some cleaning supplies from under the sink.

“Eat something first!” Maggie hollers from the couch and Went chuckles at that. “What? He can’t get into the nooks and crannies if he keels over.”

“That is true.” Went laughs, moving his fingers through her hair. “He’s the dumbest smart kid I’ve ever met.”

“He has to make his own mistakes.” Maggie says, relaxing against him and she hates that has to be a fact at times, but it is. She and Went cannot possibly expect him to grow if they constantly coddle him and guide him away from every potentially dangerous path. Sure, they can encourage him to stray away from them if they appear a little more destructive than driving unattended during a storm, breaking and entering into an abandoned gas station, or drinking like a fish-- but they can’t always make that call for him.

He has to learn on his own and even though that’s absolutely terrifying to her, she knows she has to loosen her hold on him more and more each day. He’s growing up and he can’t possibly amount to his full potential if she is constantly over his shoulder. She and Went can do everything right, but they will always have to let him be free at times and let him learn for himself no matter how much it may scare the two of them.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone said they enjoyed my notes which if funny to me... my notes are probably better than the actual fucking fic LMAO: 
> 
> So I hope that was enjoyable. I'm sorry if it was choppy and boring and whatever. if so, just tell me the spider knew what it was doing and i'll just idk go lay outside in the snow because yes it's april and it's STILL SNOWING. 
> 
> Driving laws are really complicated to write and there's not much information on the 1990 laws in Maine so I'm just basing it primarily off current laws and what I know to be true for most states sans PA which has the dumbest driving laws ever. Also, the turning situation? Word for word my driving experience. I am a GOD AWFUL DRIVER. If someone doesn't blatantly tell me turn the wheel this much right here, i'm just gonna fuckin floor it. 
> 
> Richie's arrest is actually based off my brother's arrest in high school (he's a good noodle trust me). He was so distraught over it and was honestly just with the wrong group of people at that point in his life but I just made Richie a dumb fucking bitch. Also, I'm not implying people put in juvie are all bad. There are of course a few in those places that genuinely lack morals and others are just in rough patches in their lives and truly don't belong there and will eventually grow out of their phase. That was the case with my brother so I would never try and insinuate that anyone in jail, JDC, etc. are bad people! 
> 
> With the exception of the perfume incident (which is obviously based on John Mulaney because if Mulaney had the "final switch" flipped, we all know he would have become Richie Tozier), Richie's drunk state is entirely based off my own experiences specifically the water bullshit because my friends and I have a written list of all my drunken moments (because apparently I'm their favorite drunk) and realized you could probably play a game of "tag the losers as shit MillennialPink22 has said/done when drunk" and maybe I'll just share all those moments in the form of Loser content one day because to be honest, I put John Mulaney to SHAME in regards to my drunken moments... waking up in the hospital in NOTHING but a ninja turtle shirt is on that list. I am not proud. 
> 
> "Did you know water is better for you than alcohol" is a moment that will forever haunt me. I cannot order it at a restaurant without someone reminding me that I am indeed a dumb fuck. 
> 
> I'm in no way trying to encourage underage drinking or suggest it's okay. But if you're going to (or if you are of age this still applies to you) drinking can be dangerous but again, I'm not gonna say "don't do it!!!" bc that's hypocritical... just be smart and safe about it. ALCOHOL IS JUST A FUN POISON AND NEEDS TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY!!!! 
> 
> mom friend rant over. not that i am the mom friend. im a fucking moron because I am one of those assholes that never gets hungover.
> 
> Anyway, I hope everyone is staying safe right now. I live in PA which has a lot of cases right now and it's v scary right now. It's being rumored that a lot of universities are going to be zoomin' in fall as well which is really scary to think this could last that long. Wherever you're located in the world, please stay inside and be healthy and only go outside for essentials and for a dose of Vitamin D. 
> 
> Eddie and Richie just adopted a quarantine puppy. Her name is Ophelia. She is a mutt. They love her so much. Richie has been pissed on six times already. He has cried each time because he is just so enamored with the puppy. Eddie already taught her to shake. Things are okay in quarantine. They are going to have a zoom date with the Losers.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going stir crazy. Quarantine fucks with your head. I can't go outside because it's cold as FUCK and I'm sick because I gave myself food poisoning. I decided the ham we had from Easter was okay. It was not. I'm fine. This is fine. I'm not crying. You're crying. I'm just lonely and sad but it's chill. I have my pets. I have TikTok. I have Ao3 access. That's what matters. 
> 
> This chapter is a shorter boy especially in comparison to the previous monsters I posted earlier. Am hope this chapter is not dull. It's not that eventful and if you don't vibe with it, feel free to skiparoo unless like me you're desperate in quarantine and literally refresh your favorite fic tags every 20 minutes hoping for something new. ooooof
> 
> Enjoy I hope? 
> 
> TW for brief mentions of abuse and drug usage. I say the drug part loosely. It's weed. We aren't into the hard shit.
> 
> yet. :)

Maggie knew the Losers would never be the same again.

**July 1992**

Beverly Marsh was moving. She knew this months before she dropped the bombshell on “her boys.” Hell, all the Losers knew their time with the girl was uncertain since  _ that  _ summer. They’d been anticipating her departure since Martha signed a two year lease as opposed to a four year one that would keep her until the end of their high school experience. It was for the best in a multitude of ways that Bev no longer remained in Derry; Maggie knew this. Derry was a host of some of Bev’s worst memories and to remove herself from it meant no longer biking past the areas where she’d been subject to the traumas that surely haunted the subconscious of her young mind. It was clear that she’d grown significantly since her father passed and appeared to be in a healthier mental and physical state than she’d been when Maggie first met her, but nevertheless, it was next to impossible to become whole in the place that tried to knock you down to nothing.

Now, the lease was up, and Martha had already secured a home for the two of them in Portland and while it was not  _ too  _ far, it was too far for them to reasonably see her as much as they desperately wanted to. Bev was an essential part of Richie's friend group. All of the boys adored her-- and not even in a romantic sense. Sure, it was obvious that when she was first introduced to the group, that most (not all) of them had eyes for her. But that was expected out of a bunch of thirteen year olds that previously only talked to girls as part of class projects or to defend themselves against their (mainly Greta’s) cruel insults. With the exception of Ben who had been on a handful of dates with Beverly but had never moved to make anything official, they now only saw her as one of their best friends. 

She was everything to those boys. She was easily the most mature and knew how to provide guidance and care in a way that no parent could for their child. All kids needed support and that support sometimes needed to come from someone that was their age and going through what they were at that precise moment-- not someone who had “been there” two decades ago and Maggie knew that. Bev made all of them laugh when they needed to, and was never afraid to call out any of them on their bullshit. She was a vital member of the Losers club and when she broke the news to the boys that she would officially be moving by the end of the summer, they were all crushed. Richie had come home on the verge of tears the day she told them at the Clubhouse.

Maggie had just got off work and had changed out of her work clothes into something more comfortable to lounge alone in as Went would not be home till later in the evening. She was on the verge of succumbing to her own exhaustion when she heard the door open and saw her son in a very obvious state of distress. He moved to head up the stairs in order to avoid all emotional confrontation but Maggie was never one to let him repress his emotions. He repressed plenty of other things on a daily basis. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” She asked, her sleepiness melting away as he turns around and she can clearly see the wrath of emotions threatening to overtake her son. 

“Bev is moving.” He hiccups, the mask of composure cracking as tears finally spill down his cheeks. 

“Oh, honey.” She murmurs, walking over to him and putting her arms around his shoulders. He is taller than her but he bends down to let himself feel small and lays his head on her shoulder. His body is quaking as gut wrenching sobs threaten to wrack his form. She moves her hand between his sharp shoulder blades in a soothing manner. “I’m so sorry.”

“She’s leaving in August, mom. I don’t want her to go.”

“I know.” She had whispered into his mess of curls. She couldn’t offer much. Nothing would change the fact that she was leaving and she knew few words would be even remotely soothing whilst he was in such a state of anguish so she simply held him and allowed him to get the feelings he had held back out into the open. 

Since then, Richie had accepted the news, or at least acknowledged it was indeed happening and did not allow himself to break down after every day that was spent with Bev-- something he’d done for nearly two weeks after the ball had been initially dropped. The Losers were obviously saddened by the news but there was nothing they could do. Martha had already finalized all the arrangements for their move to Portland and Bev was already set to be enrolled in a new school and to start her new life out of Derry. It was disheartening, but there was nothing that could change it and they had to accept it. The kids decided they needed to make the most of their final summer together-- so they did. 

Richie was only ever at the house if he was accompanied by the other Losers or just Bev. The Losers had been inseparable prior to this news, but now it was like they were attached at the hip and absolutely nothing could separate them. They would meet up just as the sun peeked over the horizon and would not be home till well after curfew-- something most of the parents had let slip. 

Sonia had her own conniptions about her Eddie-bear not being home and spending every waking hour away from her toxic presence in order to see his friends, but Eddie, still making his own strives toward independence and away from her abusive clutches, paid little mind to it. She knew better than to fight him too much seeing as Eddie would be eighteen in two years and if she didn’t play her cards right, there was a high likelihood that he would take advantage of his status as a legal adult and would quickly leave her. It wasn’t like he couldn’t support himself either. He was pretty confident he’d get a full ride scholarship for running for whatever college he chose based on the interest recruiters had already expressed for him and even if he didn’t, Maggie and Went would be more than happy to help and support him for as long as he needed. 

They were constantly running around Derry, wreaking havoc in their own ways. They would come home with their skin three shades darker (or burnt red in her son’s case), smelling vaguely of alcohol from the parties that were thrown by the friends they’d all managed to make within their social circles containing friends from their personal extracurriculars, and snickering about whatever trouble they had certainly gotten up to behind their parents’ back. It was nothing out of the ordinary for kids their age to be up to and so as long as Richie continued to keep her in the loop of what they were doing to an extent seeing as it was simply ignorant for her to assume he would disclose every last detail of their excursions, she was content. 

After they spent the entirety of their day out and about, they typically stayed the night in the Tozier’s living room. They were over so often that Maggie and Went had stopped asking Richie to throw all of the pillows and blankets back into the linen closet once the morning came around and just accepted the fact that this group of kids would be couch surfing in their living room for the remainder of the summer. They were always certain to provide a surplus of snacks and drinks that tickled each of the kid’s individual fancies and made sure that all of them had their own pajamas stowed away in Richie’s disaster of a closet. Stan had tried countless times to help the boy organize it to no avail. It always looked like an F5 tornado had blown through within an hour of Stan helping Richie to rearrange his clothing hellscape. 

Their near constant presence inside their home was not a bother to her and Went. They genuinely enjoyed the company of the other kids. They were all more than comfortable to be themselves in front of the Tozier parents and expressed more than enough gratitude for the kindness that Maggie and Went showered upon them unconditionally. 

As the summer progressed, it was only reasonable that the Losers acknowledged the fact that their time was ticking away with their friend. It was something none of them wanted to accept and while they still utilized every waking moment to be with her and make the most of their final summer as a complete “lucky seven” as Stan had so frequently called them, they could not pretend that it was a distressing thought as their time with the red head dwindled away faster than any of them wanted to admit. Richie was only ever willing to come to terms with this fact in the rare moments he was not face to face with one of the other Losers and was able to confide in his mother or father about his feelings.

They all would miss her in their own way and each of the teens had a special connection with one another in a way that Maggie was often baffled by. Each of them were individual friends-- not just friends in a group circumstance. They did not need the presence of others in order to feel comfortable with one another--even though they were generally together as a fully united group. Any of them could hang out as individuals and no one would question a thing. That was a true rarity among friend groups. It was not uncommon for people to have their “favorite” person within a group or to be incapable of spending isolated time with one member-- but this was not the case for Richie and his friends.

Sure, Maggie and Went were more than aware that Richie had significantly different feelings for  _ one _ of the Losers, but he still valued his friendship with that person in the same way he valued all of his other friends. They each treasured their one-on-one connections as much as they did their group ones. They were each handling the prospect of Bev leaving in their own way and it was something they needed to cope with in a more independent manner.

Bev had made it a personal mission of sorts to give each Loser some individualized time with her before her departure. It was a good way to ensure that each of the guys got some essential “Bevy time” that was not interrupted by the playful bickering and roughhousing that was commonplace whenever all of them got together at the same exact time. Those would be the final, fleeting moments those boys cherished the most. Maggie was certain of it. 

Yes, the moments together as the Losers were truly special and demonstrated their unconditional love for each other, but having specialized time for one another would allow them to genuinely treasure their closeness and receive their own closure with Bev that would not be possible in moments whereby all seven of them were smushed together. 

Times that Bev isolated for Riche were typically spent in the Tozier household. Richie liked to joke around that Bev only liked hanging there because he preferred Maggie over him. Bev neither confirmed nor denied this fact and Maggie knew it wasn’t necessarily true but she loved Bev like a daughter and she hoped Bev could sense that. Admittedly, Maggie and Went were nearly as sad as the boys about the fact that the teen girl would be moving soon. It was like watching a child of theirs leave the nest. Maggie was not ready for that to  _ actually  _ happen when Richie graduated high school and went off to do whatever was his personal plan.

He had yet to decide what he wanted to do and while that was fine, Maggie knew it was time he got a move on such decisions even though it wasn’t really fair that a sixteen year old had to make such crucial life decisions seeing as their brain was not nearly capable of making these adult life decisions. She just needed to know whether or not he needed to be enrolled in SAT prep classes if he does decide he wants to go to college after high school. Regardless of what he elects to do, she and Went will support him.

Although Maggie knew each of the Losers held a special place in Richie’s heart and he valued their presence equally, Bev’s placement in his heart was unique. She was special for she was the only one of his six friends that he trusted enough with the secret he thought he had to keep. She never pressed him to come out to the others and never made him feel isolated for his sexuality. She only ever gave him words of encouragement, reassured him on days where the darker thoughts convinced him that he would not be accepted should he come out to them, and enjoyed exchanging their own lovesick feelings that they harbored for particular individuals within their friend group. 

It was not an uncommon sight: Richie sitting on the floor, bony elbows on his knobby knees with Bev on the couch, her hands twisting his curls into delicate braids while he told her things he could not bring in himself to admit to his friends just yet.

“Eddie gets more freckles in the summer.” Richie notes one humid afternoon. It’s just the two of them. She has started scheduling more one-on-one time with the Losers as her departure date becomes a more tangible concept. Today is a perfect day for no one except Bev and Richie. Ben is at football conditioning. Eddie is at cross country practice. Bill is helping Mike at the farm with some exports that have to be finalized by the end of the week. Stan is visiting his grandmother in Bangor for the evening. 

“Does he now?” She giggles, tying yet another brightly colored rubber band around the plait. The rubber bands are actually meant to go around Richie’s braces but he has more than enough of the little pouches for Bev to use whenever she gets in the mood to do someone’s (typically Richie’s) hair. 

“Mmhmm. They’re cute.” He tells her.

“He would like to hear that. He complains about them all the time.” Bev informs him.

“Haystack would like to know that you think his laugh is… what did you call it… oh yeah, angelic.” Richie chuckles which quickly turns into a yipe as Bev pulls apart a collection of tangles a little rougher than necessary. 

“Watch yourself, Dick.” Bev snickers. “Unlike  _ you,  _ I’ve acted on my feelings.”

“Oh bullshit. You’ve went on what? Three dates with the guy? That’s not really doing anything.” 

“Ben is a slow and steady type of guy. Plus, I couldn’t give him false hope since I’m moving, shithead.” She thinks for a moment before adding, “It’s more than you’ve ever done, Richard. Telling Eddie you want to--pardon my French, Mama-- fuck his mother is not expressing your feelings toward him.”

“Because I  _ don’t  _ want to, you shit stirring asshole.”

“Richie, be nice to Bev.” Maggie scolds. 

“This is mutiny.” He growls loudly. 

“You should. You never know.” She shrugs.

“What do  _ you  _ know?” Richie asks.

“I didn’t say I knew anything, Tozier.” Bev smirks. 

“You hung out with Eddie last weekend! You do know things!” Richie yanks his hair from her playing hands. “What did he say? Tell me, Bevy! You can’t deprive me of this information. I’m your  _ best  _ friend.”

“I wouldn’t go  _ that  _ far, Richard. I’m not saying anything.” Bev says simply. “Just, you need to get your collective heads out of your skinny asses.”

“Eddie’s ass is not skinny.” Richie argues. 

“Richie, don’t objectify that boy.” Maggie says around a laugh. “I don’t want to hear that kind of stuff coming from your mouth.” 

Richie mutters something that she nor Bev cannot quite catch but Maggie thinks she probably doesn’t want to know what the hell kind of defense he created for  _ that _ . Sometimes, ignorance is bliss when it comes to some of the more peculiar and less PG thoughts of your child.

xXx

Sometimes, Bev’s alone time with Richie is not nearly as mild as them affectionately teasing one another while she styles his mane of locks into something more elegant than his usual (and extremely authentic) look of “I brushed my teeth and nothing else.” Maggie isn’t always sure what the two of them get up to when left to their own devices, but when they come home after a small get together with their fellow theater friends, she can tell, or more accurately  _ smell  _ what they got up to. 

She and Went are in the midst of watching a nature documentary whilst snuggled under a thin blanket. He’s rubbing the small of her back as she lays across his soft belly, humming with content as some self-proclaimed wilderness expert describes the deadliness of a species of jellyfish.

The door creeps open and in come Bev and Richie. She already knows Bev is staying the night and is pleased to see that the two of them did not decide to stay out past curfew as they have gotten in the habit of doing this past summer. It was easier to violate such a rule when they were all licensed and could speed their way home much to her own dismay.

“Hi kids.” She greets fondly. Her brows furrow slightly as she catches an intense smell of vanilla-- the same vanilla that is in the perfume she knows that Bev adores. 

“Hi.” Richie greets simply, pulling Bev toward the kitchen. 

Went looks at her, slightly bewildered. As the two pass, the aroma is more intense but she catches a familiar stench that is poorly masked by the vanilla cologne. She will never inform her son that the odor calls back a few of her  _ own  _ memories, but she recognizes that skunk-like, woodsy scent. 

“Do you smell…”

“Yep.” Maggie sighs, getting up and heading into the kitchen, Went not far behind her. The two of them have themselves situated at the kitchen table with a bag of chips she knows to be stale, a pack or Oreos, and two freshly microwaved packs of Bagel Bites. Munchies. Maggie feels a mild twinge of jealousy as she wishes to still have the same wicked fast metabolism these two have as they stuff their faces with their snacks with an attempt to appease the nagging hunger that accompanies a Mary-Jane high. 

“Hey kids.” Went greets, sitting in front of the two teenagers.

“Hi.” Richie says around a mouthful of bagel bites. 

Maggie seats herself next to Went and hides a snicker behind her hand as she catches the burning bloodshot red of their eyes. If the smell or the aggressive cravings had not tipped her off, the color of their half-lidded eyes would be enough for her to catch on. 

“How are you kids doing? Did you have fun?” She asks. “What did you do?”

“Hung out.” Bev says, sippling at the lemonade she’s poured for herself. “Watched a few movies.”

“Uh huh, anything else?” Went presses, hoping to unveil the sensation of paranoia that occasionally wrecks an entire high. 

She’s not overly mad at the fact that they’re clearly baked off their asses. She had a feeling he’s done the devil’s lettuce before. He’s just never reeked of it so strongly nor has he came home this obviously stoned. What she’s truly not impressed with is the fact that he definitely drove home whilst in this state. Clearly they are both fine, but it’s something she will definitely have to talk to him about once he is slightly more coherent. 

Richie shakes his head before swallowing. “No.”

“I see.” Maggie nods.

The two of them share a look, Bev’s own lips quivering up into an involuntary smile while Richie attempts to maintain a sense of composure.

“So uh,” Richie says, putting his Bagel-Bite-greased hands through his hair. “How’s everyone’s Wednesday going?” 

Went snorts loudly. 

“Richie, it’s Saturday.” Maggie informs her son. 

“Oh.” He falls into a fit of giggles, grabbing more chips. 

“Christ.” Went cackles. 

“Went, don’t encourage them.”

“Is everywhere you go worth something?” Bev asks. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your name is Wentworth.” Bev explains. 

“Oh my God.” Richie says, eyes wide. “My middle name is Wentworth.”

“Wow. That’s your  _ dad’s  _ name.” Bev gapes.

“A total coincidence.” Maggie says.

xXx

**August 1992**

Richie does not get off scot-free for driving home high. She confiscates his keys for a week knowing that he will still be able to hang out with Bev and the other Losers for almost all of them are capable of driving or they simply bike to wherever they decide to hang out. She had contemplated revoking his privilege of seeing his friends but elected not to, especially now that Bev’s time in Derry was quickly running out with the movers already packing up her Aunt’s apartment.

They do berate him for risking not only himself but Bev for driving whilst under the influence. He does acknowledge their frustration but truly does not seem to comprehend the dangers that can come from driving while high. He did argue that it’s not nearly as bad as driving drunk and that he was perfectly capable despite not even knowing what day it was or being baffled by his own middle name-- but his apology for his actions is sincere and Maggie knows he won’t make that mistake again. He might not understand their concerns but he respects them and that’s all Maggie can ask for from a teenager as rambunctious and oblivious as her son. 

Now, it’s an excruciatingly hot day, about a week before Bev will officially leave Derry. An aggressive heatwave has settled over Derry and it is absolutely relentless in its blistering fury. The air is painfully thick and feels like it weighs heavily on Maggie’s lungs when she goes outside to get the mail that morning. When she gazes into the distance, the road, where it meets the startlingly blue sky, appears to move in aggressive waves, like it too is melting beneath the sun. It is a day that no one in their right mind wants to be outside in. No one except her son and his friends that are essentially her children at this point. 

They’re not too crazy, though. They’re spending their day in the Tozier swimming pool. Normally they might elect to swim at the quarry, but the metal of their bikes was too painfully hot to the touch for them to even attempt climbing aboard them to make the journey that would surely have at least one of them collapsing from rapid onset heat exhaustion. They were content in enjoying themselves in their swimming pool, engaging in a plethora of games and attempts at mastering certain dives that Bev is able to execute gracefully with next to no effort. The rest of them, especially her noodle of a son, are all jerky movements and sloppy jumps as they try to mimic her elegance. Anytime they get out to run into their bathroom or to grab a quick snack, they scamper across the porch, hooting and yiping as the heated ground attempts to burn through the layers of protective, calloused skin of their feet. 

Maggie occasionally looks through the kitchen window to peer at their antics and to ensure that none of them are at risk of breaking their necks or anything but for the most part her focus is on making some snacks for the kids seeing as they’re certainly going to feel half-starved after exerting themselves in the heat for so long. She averts her attention to cut up some carrots to look like the baby carrots that she could not manage to find the last time she was at the store because both Richie and Eddie insist that baby carrots taste different somehow. Whatever. This tactic of chopping and peeling the regular ones has worked on the boys since they were little and she doesn’t see that changing anytime soon. 

While she’s distributing veggies into individual bowls for them to dunk into some dip, Bev walks through the back door, a towel wrapped around her narrow shoulders. 

“Hi sweetheart.” Maggie greets as the girl makes her way toward their bathroom.

“Hey!” She responds.

Maggie returns to her work until Bev returns and rather than going outside as expected, she plops herself down on one of the kitchen chairs. 

“The boys tiring you out?” Maggie asks.

“A little.” Bev giggles. She seems a little off in Maggie’s opinion. The smile upon her freckled face appears strained and doesn’t meet her bright eyes as it normally does when her head is thrown back in laughter. “I think I’m done swimming for now.”

“Well that’s great because I was just about to call all of you in to get something to eat.” Maggie tells her. 

“Uh, yeah… um can I talk to you?” Bev inquires, her eyes wide with an emotion Maggie cannot quite pinpoint.

“Of course, honey.” Maggie tells her. “Do you want to go to the living room?” She figures that will be best for conversing if the topic is as heavy as Maggie is anticipating based on Bev’s tone of voice and body language. It will be especially preferred if one of the boys is to barrel through the kitchen to reach the bathroom or because they realize that the snacks she’s prepared are on the counter waiting to satiate their ridiculous appetites. 

“That would be nice.” Bev nods, following Maggie to the couch.

“What’s on your mind, honey?” She asks.

Bev drops her head, twisting the towel around her shoulders between her hands. She swallows thickly before meeting Maggie’s eyes. “I um… I’m obviously leaving soon and I just…” she pauses, taking even breaths. “I wanted to thank you.”

Maggie cocks her head at that.

“You and uh Went. Both of you. I did talk to him last time I was here but I never got the chance to thank you.”

“Oh sweetie, there’s no need for you to th--”

“No, but I want to. I… I want to say thank you for being a mom to me.” Bev says, tears shimmering in her eyes. Maggie’s heart lurches, her own eyes starting to burn. “I always call you Mama and Went dad not just because I think it’s fun or anything like that but because you guys are that to me.”

“Sweetheart, we love you like a daughter.” Maggie smiles, cupping Bev’s face with one of her hands. The girl leans easily into the touch, her tears cascading down her cheeks. 

“I know.” Bev murmurs. “My dad… he was not good to me to say the least and I know you know that and I never really knew my mom and it’s always been extremely complicated and I really do love my Aunt, don’t get me wrong but she’s my  _ Aunt.  _ You guys… you two are my mom and dad and have been since I first met you. You really helped me through some tough--sorry-- shit.”

“We always want to be there for you, honey. You’ve been such a blessing in not only Richie’s life, but ours too.” Maggie pulls the girl into a hug. “You’re the little girl we never had.”

Bev chokes a little. “I don’t want to be here anymore… Derry hurts a lot but I don’t want to be without this family either.”

“I know. I know.” Maggie whispers into her fiery hair. “We don’t want to see you go but we know it’s what you need and what you deserve. There are so many better things waiting for you outside of this town. I know that.”

Bev nods. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve helped do for me. I just wanted you to know how much I really love you guys.” 

“We love you too and this isn’t a forever thing, you know that.”

Bev nods, something akin to fear glazing over her eyes but Maggie merely attributes the flicker to Bev’s anxieties over her new life that awaits her. “Yeah… I know.” Her voice breaks and she starts full out sobbing, something Maggie has never really seen from the young girl. She has always had a brave face. She  _ had  _ to have a brave face given the circumstances she’s been wrongfully dealt. She would not have been able to make it through to the other side had she allowed the horrors of her past overtake her. But now, she is safe. She has been safe for a few years now. Bev knows she can cry now, especially in the presence of her surrogate mother. 

Maggie holds her close, letting her get everything out. She can barely maintain her own composure as tears silently roll down her own face. They’re like that for an indistinct amount of time, comforted in each other’s hold whilst briefly neglecting the pressing thought of Bev leaving her mother and Maggie losing her daughter. For a moment, the world and the weight of the situation do not matter. All that matters is the warmth of their touch and the gentle whispers of love between the two.

The moment, something Maggie will forever cherish, is abruptly ruined by the sound of six teenage boys barreling into the kitchen and cheering at the food she’d laid out. Bev snorts against Maggie, wiping at her eyes just as Richie enters the room, an angry burn already bleeding across his pasty skin and a dip-covered carrot in his hand.

“Wow, you good?” He asks. He’s oblivious at most times but he is almost always in tune to the emotional state of his friends.

“Honey, can you--” Maggie starts, wanting to give Bev her privacy but unfortunately all the boys have their own plans and come barging in with the platter and bowls of snacks and move to set themselves up at the coffee table, all engaged in their own conversation and too oblivious to notice Bev’s tearful state and unable to notice Bev quickly attempting to compose herself and easily (too easily in Maggie’s opinion) masking the emotions that she had on full display just seconds ago. It was to no avail though.

“Hey, it’s okay Bevy.” Richie says gently, immediately gaining the attention from the other Losers.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie immediately chirps. 

“Are you okay, Bev?” Ben asks, sitting next to her.

“I’m fine.” Bev answers.

“Don’t overwhelm her.” Maggie says, shooting an eye to Richie who shrugs sheepishly.

“I got this.” Richie says, walking over to their stereo system and quickly skimming through their tracks until he stumbles upon the right one, a smirk curling up his burnt face.

“What is he doing?” Maggie asks, turning to Bev who is groaning halfheartedly.

“Oh not this sh-shit again.” Bill grumbles. 

Suddenly, on full blast,  _ Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us  _ blares through their living room and Richie shimmies his body surprisingly on beat to the music. Eddie immediately falls into a fit of giggles as Richie mimics playing the piano in thin air, giving very exaggerated facial expressions toward Bev. He suddenly starts lip syncing while still dancing toward Bev, narrowing his eyes at her, waiting for some type of reaction.

The female voice starts and Bev simply shakes her head, wiping away the stray tears as laughter crawls up her throat. “Richie, c’mon. I’m okay.” 

He doesn’t pay her any mind. Stan enters the room with a cup of lemonade and Richie immediately turns his attention to the boy, working his way over to him.

“What is he doing? Maggie asks, stunned by this dramatic performance.

“They do this all the time.” Stan answers just as Richie presses a finger to Stan’s lips. Stan shakes his head, laughing to himself as Richie starts crawling on the ground toward Bev, a daring look in his eyes, magnified by his crooked glasses. 

Bev indulges him and begins mouthing the vocals sung by Grace Slick, her emotions immediately shifting into ones of joy. Richie claps excitedly that he has successfully elicited such a reaction. Richie and her both stand up, dancing in what is clearly their own choreographed movements to the song. They continue to parade themselves around the living room, twirling around each other and working off each other’s movements with practiced ease. 

The song comes to an end and Richie pulls Bev into a hug, grunting as he picks her up off her feet. 

“That was something.” Maggie comments, rather stunned by their little show.

“They do it all the time in the Clubhouse.” Mike tells her, chuckling to himself.

“You’re gonna make me miss you more, you little shit.” Bev snorts, yanking Richie into a hug.

“Awh, Bevy. Don’t get all emotional on me.”

“Shut up.” She grumbles. “You cry over everything.”

“Do not.” He mutters, wrapping his long arms around her. 

“Yeah you do.” A few of the other Losers say in unison, moving toward the two in order to create their own sloppy group-hug.

xXx

Richie is extremely emotional the day Bev has to leave. The Losers decided to stay the night in their Clubhouse as the heatwave that previously made Derry nearly inhabitable has finally dissipated and made it bearable enough for the kids to have one last sleepover as a fully united group in their little haven. Martha and Bev are to leave no later than noon seeing as they are obligated to follow the schedule of the movers, so the kids are up early to do whatever will grant them a sense of closure before Bev is to leave. 

They know it’s not a permanent thing and they will see each other again, but that thought alone is not enough to diminish the intense feelings that weigh upon those kids. They swing through the neighborhood, Bev bidding her own farewells to everyone’s parents (minus Sonia Kaspbrak who has not hesitated to express nothing by delight with Bev moving). 

When they approach the Tozier residence, she runs inside and to Maggie and Went, engulfing them each in a hug. As she wraps her arms around Bev, Maggie catches Richie standing next to the boys, eyes red and puffy. He’s obviously been crying but it’s clear that he’s not the only one when she glimpses at the other boys.

“Thank you for being the best parents.” She tells them quietly.

“Anytime, Bevy.” Went says, smiling sadly.

“We love you.” Maggie whispers.

She talks to them for a little longer, cherishing the moment before moving on to say her goodbyes to Stan’s family. After that, Maggie knows the boys walk her back to her apartment where her entire life has officially been packed away into a moving truck and into the back of her Aunt’s car. She can only imagine the tearfulness of their goodbyes and the devastation the kids must feel as they give her their final hugs. 

She gets an inkling of an understanding as to how truly crushed they had to be when Richie returns home that day. He looks even more wrecked than he had earlier that day. Went gets up and pulls him into a hug which simply serves as a way to make him break down once more, sobs shaking his body.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Went reassures him. 

“I don’t have anyone that…” Richie shakes his head, unable to bring himself to finish his sentence.  _ Anyone that knows about me  _ goes unspoken but Maggie can read the anguish in his face enough to know that having Bev leave him is painful in a way that is slightly different from what the other Losers are experiencing. They’re all suffering individually and have their own reasons as to why they are struggling with her move-- whether it be the fact that Ben almost certainly loved Bev in a romantic sense or that Eddie could confide in her when it came to the abusive nature of his mother that he had started to come to terms with, or whatever it may be, they each has their personal reasons as to why Bev moving away was simply unbearable. 

For Richie, it was because he had yet to come out to any of his other friends. He would no longer have the physical presence of someone that was not his parents to be himself without putting up a facade and withholding his biggest secret. Maggie knew for a fact that Bev had talked to him about this before she left and she could only hope her words were eye-opening enough for Richie to realize that even without her, he was safe around his fellow Losers. 

“It’s not forever, baby.” Maggie attempts to comfort her son. Richie slips out of Went’s grasp, and slumps on the couch, rubbing at his inflamed eyes. “You can certainly drive to see each other over breaks.”

Richie nods. “I just wish she could stay here. I mean we’re… we’re almost done with high school.” That’s a stab to Maggie’s heart. “I just wish she could finish this with us. We’ve been through a lot together and it’s not gonna be the same without her.”

“I know, honey. But you guys will stay close with her and you can all write to her and call her every single day.” 

“You guys can even come here.” Went chuckles. “We won’t mind paying any long distance fees.” 

Richie smiles tearfully and nods. “Bev said she would call once they got settled and had their phone hooked up.” The hurt is still evident in his blue eyes, but there is a flicker of hope in there somewhere. 

xXx

**September 1992**

Bev never calls.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not particularly wowed by this one. It feels like it lacks a lot of substance and feels somewhat incomplete. I'm sorry to disappoint. It was a little hard to execute if you can't tell. I'm in a weird headspace and I don't want to take a break because if I do, I won't finish any of this even though I've had it ready to go since January and I don't wanna face that type of defeat. oooof. 
> 
> "How's everyone's Wednesday going?" is based off my friend when we hotboxed his car and he said he didn't think he was high and then asked that and we all kinda lost it. 
> 
> also with the nothings gonna stop us thing, i knew I needed to melt that scene into here somehow and I know it barely fits but ya know what, IT NEEDED TO HAPPEN. That scene in Skeleton Twins is ICONIC!!!! Also, with their age rn, I'd say it's safe to picture all the kids as mash-ups of the child/adult actors like if you were to morph them into one another on photoshop. Someone did that once in fan art and it was literally perfect for how I'm trying to visualize all these kiddos while I write them out because this is all film based because the book? Idk him. 
> 
> leave a comment. it doesn't even have to be about the fic or anything. Just tell me about ya day or a random fact. Let me have that serotonin rush I get when I get that email that says ______ commented on ______. I need it. I need the illusion of socialization. 
> 
> Keep yourselves healthy, kids. Take care of yourselves as much as possible. Things blow. It's getting wild. Hopefully things get better sooner than later. Do what makes you feel better in these times without risking your health or the health of others. wE CAN DO THIS. DAMMIT. 
> 
> I've had a lot of friends move and I've moved a lot so this chapter hits home. If I wrote this from the kids' POV I'd cry tbh because when your best friend(s) move or you have to move, it HURTS A LOT. Idk. Maybe if this shit lasts forever, I'll make this a series and do it from varying perspectives. It's up in the air. Im a hack just winging it over here. Ahah. 
> 
> Eddie and Richie have taken more walks than ever with their new pupper. Richie is 100% recovered from his flu. Eddie is going absolutely mad with this social distancing shit and screamed at Bill on the phone for driving to meet up with one of his directors. Richie proceeded to kick Bill out of the group chat until he admitted that he is contributing to the problem. Their themed dinner was their favorite superhero characters. Richie and Eddie are arguing whether they can do Marvel or DC since they don't want to mix the two.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has 5000 hits and idk my heart did a warm thing.
> 
> So I'm a slut for TikTok and someone made a video about how they're highkey over Maggie and Went being portrayed as abusive and someone commented about my fic and I was floored. Idk it just made me happy that people have read it and have recommended it to people. Idk. Soft. I'd say follow my tiktok but idk I don't wanna embarrass myself because I like to think I'm funny but in reality I'm just the epitome of cringe. 
> 
> This one was v difficult to write as it truly lacks a plot. I'm sorry. 
> 
> Also if you haven't gathered by now, Richie has RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria) which is common in kids with ADHD! Ahah same. I decided to finally add it as a tag. It's why he feels so strongly about situations he may perceive as rejection (when they aren't) and accumulate an excessive amount of shame, guilt, sadness, etc. Idk I felt I should mention that because I feel like RSD doesn't get enough attention. ADHD isn't just being loud, hyper, etc. There are other things that typically accompany it and mess with ya feelings.
> 
> I hope this one is okay for you guys! :) Am paranoid.

Maggie knew Richie was scared of growing up because of the future and what it held, absolutely terrified him.

**October 1992**

Weeks had passed since Bev’s departure and Richie and his fellow Losers continued to wait for a phone call that Maggie felt would never come. They spent hours upon hours sitting in the Tozier living room, pretending to be focused on whatever TV show was playing before them when in reality, they were waiting for the phone to ring. The minute the shrill tone of the phone filled the house, the boys sprung into action and would leap over furniture in order to reach the device, expecting to hear Bev’s smooth and easy voice on the other end. They anticipated an apology and a reasoning as to why the call was so late. It never did happen and as days went by, the fiery hope in their eyes dwindled to ash. Maggie truly felt horrible for those boys as she could sense just how crushed they were by what they perceived to be a broken promise.

It was disheartening to witness the defeat in their eyes and Maggie desperately attempted to rationalize as to why Bev had yet to call in order to give some type of clarification and perhaps a sense of relief to Richie and all of his friends. Maybe Bev couldn’t find their phone numbers. Sure, all of the Losers had written their home phones down in Bev’s leather bound address book she’d found at a vintage shop, but maybe the numbers had been smudged away or she had yet to find the book that held all of their contact information. It didn’t seem likely, but there was a chance.

Despite it being nearly two months since she moved away, there was a chance that Martha hadn’t gotten their phone line hooked up yet. Phone companies were always dreadfully slow in Maggie’s own experience-- maybe not two months slow but it was worth taking into consideration. 

The most likely possibility in Maggie’s opinion and the reason that would mean Bev would most likely  _ never  _ call again was the chance that Bev simply could no longer allow herself to associate herself with Derry to any degree due to the trauma and maltreatment she had experienced whilst inhabiting such a vile town. That meant attempting to forget the place entirely and the people who were in it for they too would most likely elicit memories of the town she needed to separate herself from. Maggie could understand if that was the case for Bev. If healing required her to let go of Derry and all of the memories, the good ones included, Maggie could not blame the girl. 

She hoped it wasn’t the case and if it was, she hoped there came a time where Bev found herself able to contact them once more. Maggie didn’t want to see those boys suffering from her absence as much as they clearly were and she genuinely just wanted to hear from her daughter again.

The devastation that plagued the boys was obvious but it was something they each had to slowly shift to the back of their mind and hold it heavily in their hearts as they had more pressing concerns that arose with their status as official high school upperclassmen. Junior year was proving to be quite grueling and required a lot of effort on their end as upcoming adults. They were subject to increasingly harder academia and were being forced to consider what subjects they truly cared enough about to utilize as a gateway into a potential career path that would dictate the course of their entire future-- or at least that’s what the general message of all the Junior Class assemblies was.

Their approaching adulthood was a subject of interest across the board and they as students had, in Maggie’s opinion, an excessive amount of pressure thrust upon them to figure things out at such a young age. She knows she had to do the same thing decades earlier, but witnessing her son, who could barely cook an egg, attempt to navigate his forthcoming future was horribly stressful to witness. 

Richie’s friends, for the most part had figured out an inkling as to what they wanted to pursue once they graduated high school. Ben had already visited a few colleges over the summer that were known for their architecture programs and had even more visitations scheduled up until college applications officially opened before their senior year. Stan had a few vague ideas as to what he wanted to do but nothing was definite. Andrea had told Maggie that there were a few universities down South that had really piqued Stan’s interest and he was thoroughly researching all of them with genuine excitement. 

Bill, always the English whiz, had been entering his own works into a variety of contests that would provide grants and scholarships and had been successful across the board. He wanted to go to school for English and Creative Writing and while to most, that did not always seem like the most stable path, Maggie was confident that the young man would achieve something with the talents he clearly possessed. 

Mike had expressed a desire to go to Florida and had mentioned it a few times whilst hanging at the Tozier house. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to get out of going to Florida, but it was something he seemed genuinely passionate about. He had found a few colleges he was interested in but as of the summer, he had to accept that he would most likely have to attend Derry’s Community College for his grandfather, Leroy Hanlon, had fallen ill. This meant that most of the responsibilities of the Hanlon farm were being shifted onto Mike’s plate and while the Losers made it a point to visit to help as often as possible, he was still struggling under the weight of the expectations his grandfather held for him. Maggie and Went always went out of their way to check on them and would offer their own support, but Leroy was a proud man and refused to accept what he perceived to be “charity.” For now, Mike’s personal plans would be put on hold and he would have to remain in Derry for the foreseeable future and he seemed surprisingly content with that fact.

Eddie, as anticipated, had indeed been offered an abundance of full-ride athletic scholarships for a plethora of universities across the United States. As of now, his mother was still oblivious to this fact and he would eventually have to come clean once he decided upon which university suited not only his athletic desires but his academic plans as well. Eddie had demonstrated some interest in the medical field and while Went was only a doctor of dentistry, he was still rather knowledgeable about medicine as a whole, and had spent quite a bit of alone time with Eddie discussing potential paths for the boy to follow should he pursue such a career. Regardless, Maggie knew Eddie would make a phenomenal doctor. He had done a great job of taking care of the other Losers, specifically her son and she was excited to see how he would thrive once he escaped his mother’s clutches.

Richie was a different story in comparison to his friends and while Maggie did not want him to compare himself to his friends, he was still going to do it no matter how much she attempted to soothe him. He was completely clueless as to what he wanted to do with his future and Maggie desperately tried to understand him and talk him through his uncertainty, but it was to no avail. He seemed to lack direction and according to his teachers, he seemed unmotivated to do anything with his future. 

This was the farthest thing from the truth. Richie so badly wanted to do something with himself and to amount to something that he deemed as successful whereas he could decide to invest his time in a squirrel circus and Maggie and Went would be more than proud of their boy. Richie held himself to a ridiculously high standard and thought so little of himself and this incessant self-doubt only fueled the ambivalence he had surrounding his evolving identity. 

Richie was wildly intelligent and since Eddie was in his P.E. class this year, he had actually started attending and was now officially ranked #1 in his graduating class-- something most people rarely expected out of someone as hyperactive and inattentive as her son was perceived to be. He excelled in all subjects and seemed to coast through all of his classes with ease. He had even taken to tutoring underclassmen to make a quick buck anytime he had a moment to spare and the other Losers were busy with their own activities. 

Maggie and Went had been requested to accompany Richie for his Junior Meeting-- a conference where a student and (hopefully) their parents were to touch bases with their assigned guidance counselor and discuss future plans and potentially navigate a tangible path. They weren’t required to attend but it was highly encouraged and given that Richie was puzzled as to what he wanted to do with himself, Maggie and Went both worked their schedules into a time slot where they could hopefully figure out some options for their son. 

“Your son is remarkably intelligent.” Ms. Ziegler had informed them the moment she and Went had seated themselves around Richie who did nothing to hide the fact that he did not want to be there. Ms. Ziegler, the guidance counselor Richie had been appointed (by last name) was an older woman with grey hair tied in a tight bun and a kind, wrinkled face. She had laugh lines around her mouth which to Maggie, suggested this was the type of person qualified to work with kids as she did not exude extreme bitterness and resentment for kids as some of the other staff she had the misfortune of meeting at Derry High. 

She fingers through a file that is clearly marked:  **TOZIER, RICHARD W.** , skimming through a few papers before setting them in front of the three of them. There they can see a transcript of Richie’s stellar academic performance that has been consistent across the last four years. “He is currently first in his class and if he keeps that up through his senior year, he will be our valedictorian!  _ That’s  _ got to be exciting, huh Richard?”

Richie shrugs his shoulders and his face is looking a little peaky in a way that indicates he’s feeling nauseous as a result of the anxiety that is certainly ravaging his brain since he is fully aware of what this meeting is to entail. His arms wrap around his middle, something he has always done to self soothe, and he slumps back further. Went rubs his hand on Richie’s shoulder and Maggie rests her hand on his knee. He always seems to relax to an extent with their touch when he’s this anxious. 

“I guess, yeah.” 

“I guess?” She laughs, clearly not reading the visible signs of his discomfort. “Your boy is so modest!” 

“He’s a good kid, that’s for sure.” Went says.

She nods eagerly. “Now, Richard is one of our few… academically advanced students that has not signed up for any college tours. Is there a reason for that? Does he already have a school of choice he has in mind? We do have brochures for a multitude of universities that will list all the recommended GPA ranges, which Richie should have  _ no  _ problem with, test scores, and other information that will be vital to him when it comes to applying next summer and fall.”

Richie wiggles uncomfortably. “Um, I don’t know.” He shrugs.

“Well you shouldn’t have  _ any  _ problem getting into any school with your grades alone. You just need to apply to take the SATs here soon or at least the PSATs. Sign-ups for the winter preliminary examination end at the end of October so it might be wise to sign up with your parents after this meeting.”

Richie looks over to Maggie, rawing his bottom lip with the metal on his teeth as he chews on it anxiously. 

“Is there any paperwork we should take should he sign up for the upcoming exam?” Went asks. 

“I don’t think it should be a question of  _ should. _ ” Ms. Ziegler chuckles gently. She truly means well and only wants what the school system deems best for students which is graduating high school and moving on to a four year university. 

It was certainly different when Maggie and Went were in high school. They usually encouraged the idea of trade schools as opposed to universities but now it seemed like you  _ needed  _ a college degree to do just about anything that most people deemed to be a legitimate career path. Maggie couldn’t say she agreed and wasn’t sure if college, despite Richie’s obvious intelligence, was the right choice for him. 

“He needs to be applying to take these exams so he has time to retake them if necessary. Richard is, as I said, very smart and despite that, many of our top students still struggle with the standardized tests so it would be wise for him to take it early and retake it at least once to see if he can improve his score and enhance his chances of getting into a good university. I think, between us, based on Richie’s transcripts with his grades, extracurriculars, and if he manages to craft a good application essay, he could potentially qualify for an Ivy League.”

Richie loses any remaining color at that and Maggie is almost certain he’s going to be sick right there. Instead he speaks up. “Uh, what if… what if I haven’t decided if I want to go to college yet?”

“Richard, I do believe it would be a mistake to not go. I’m not sure if your parents agree with me but you have so much to offer with that brain of yours and I think college is the best path for someone of your caliber. A trade school is for some kids, but I don’t think it is the right choice for you.”

“No, no.” Richie rubs at the back of his quickly reddening neck. “I mean I don’t really know what I want to do after high school. It might be college. It might not be and I’m really not ready to make a final decision yet.”

“We’ve talked to him about it, but he really just wants to make sure he knows what he wants before making a decision.” Maggie says quickly as she can see a rebuttal forming at the tip of Ms. Ziegler’s tongue. 

The woman nods kindly. “I understand that and I want to encourage you to make educated decisions, however, as much as I don’t like it and I know you don’t like it either, you do have to make these types of decisions rather early.” She pulls out a few pamphlets that contain further information regarding the application process and details about testing. “I understand if you do not want to go to college, but I do highly recommend it for you Richard. However, I think you should sign up and take the PSAT and the SAT just in case. It doesn’t hurt to have those scores under your belt should you decide you want to go off to college.”

Richie nods silently, accepting the forms and shoving them into his backpack. “I’ll probably do that.” He mutters just loud enough to be audible for the woman’s older ears. 

“I’m happy to hear that. I’ll be working to meet up with all of you again at the end of this school year, if that’s alright.”

“That’s fine. Thank you Ms. Ziegler.” Went says, shaking the woman’s hand. Maggie does the same and offers a small smile and places a hand on her son’s shoulder, giving him an encouraging squeeze.

They do end up signing up Richie for the PSATs and have decided that Richie can take his first SAT in the spring or summer. If he does end up not doing the best he can always retake it the fall of his senior year. Maggie is confident that won’t be an issue but she isn’t going to say anything is for certain because standardized tests are in a field of their own and will simply serve as a way to enhance Richie’s already rapidly growing anxieties. 

SATs are really only important if Richie goes to college but Ms. Ziegler is right in that he should probably take at least one just in case. But something that Maggie knows truly piques Richie’s interest is the idea of going somewhere, perhaps a film or drama academy, to further enhance the theatrical talents he already clearly possesses. He’s been scoring major roles in almost every school musical he’s participated in and this year, he plans on not only auditioning for the lead of whatever spring musical they put up, but potentially co-directing. 

Richie has an incredibly artistic vision and has evolved into somewhat of a film nerd, according to Eddie and Bill who tease him in good fun when Richie begins talking animatedly about the color of lighting and what it may symbolize in a single scene or when he explains the artistry of a certain shot. He will point out the continuity errors or the running jokes that seem to subsist in various films that he has watched since he was a kid. 

Sure, Richie does like school but he is also very clearly passionate about the arts. Maggie and Went have done their own research on some renowned acting schools in New York City, Chicago, and Los Angeles and have taken the time to sit with him and explain the schools to him and what he would have to do in order to get in. Obviously, the process for such academies is different from what he would go through if he were to go to regular university, but they know that it is all something Richie could easily go through with if he were to set his mind to it.

Unfortunately, Richie, despite seeming enamored with such ideas, was still uncertain. He immediately belittled the idea of acting school for he still doubted his abilities to actually make something of himself should he only pursue a career in the arts. Maggie felt her son was more than capable but Richie quickly dismissed that as her being biased as she “had to believe in him by default.” Maggie couldn’t pretend to not be offended by that for she would never want to instill any type of false hope into her son. She might not be the most objective source, sure but she knew her kid had a gift. He was never going to get an athletic scholarship or make it as a fashion designer but she knew he would excel greatly should he go off to some acting or art school as opposed to a standard four-year university. Truly, no matter what path Richie took, Maggie was certain he would find ample triumphs.

But Richie wasn’t going to express any solidified interest in anything. He simply got frustrated when he was forced to talk about it or whenever his friends started chattering about their future plans. He would quickly shift the conversation and move on to a new topic. Maggie didn’t want to stress him out since she wanted him to make the decision that was best for him but he did need to have a faint hunch as to what he was truly interested in. She offered the idea of a gap year and he quickly shut down insisting that would be stupid and ranted about how that would make him look like a loser which it obviously wouldn’t but he refused to hear it. He didn’t want to think about  _ any  _ ideas regarding his future and Maggie and Went count understand his frustrations to an extent, but the way by which he fully rejected any potential ideas was quite worrisome to them.

xXx

Richie was set to take the PSAT on the same day as his fellow Losers with the exception of Mike who was electing to put off taking his in order to maintain the farm and care for his grandfather. The boys had taken to studying together after school and were taking practice versions of the test in some obscenely thick books they’d found which contained some tips and pointers as well as questions from previous examinations. It was clear they were all stressed over this work in combination with the already hefty amount of homework and projects they were expected to complete as upperclassmen. 

No one felt particularly great about being bombarded with so many responsibilities and deadlines in such a short period of time but no one more than Richie. Richie was truly not coping well under the pressure and that was something that truly surprised both Maggie and Went. Richie was prone to getting stressed as it went hand in hand with his anxiety but never to this extent. He wasn’t necessarily stretching himself too thin and was doing a rather impeccable job at balancing his normal AP and Honors school assignments, his test prep, his theater rehearsals for the winter musical, and his social life. 

He was just stressed for no clear reason. Maggie and Went had offered to let him take a few mental health days to take off from school and give his mind and body a break but he vehemently rejected their attempts to alleviate his workload. There really did not appear to be anything discernable to create this level of stress that he was clearly suffering from. It wasn’t until Stan Uris came over for a study session one day that everything came out.

Maggie and Went were in the midst of making the boys lasagna while they set up in the living room to go through the English section of the exam. They had a few of the practice books opened up and had torn out a few pages in order to review them together and Stan had a stop watch out so once they decided they were ready to attempt the practice questions they would have a semi-real feel for what it may actually feel like when they would go to take it next month. 

She could hear them chattering about random English terms and occasionally cringed when one of them said something that was clearly wrong but easily relaxed once they caught themselves and corrected their previous claims. She was starting to tune them out while Went began to layer the noodles, sauce, and cheese in a glass pan when she heard concern bleeding into Stan’s voice.

“Richie, dude it’s fine.” Stan says, attempting to hush his voice but to no avail. The Toziers were, in their opinion, blessed with thin walls which meant nothing went under their noses. It did prove to be difficult when the two of them wanted to get up to their own  _ stuff  _ but for the most part it was helpful in a healthy dose of eavesdropping on their son who never wanted to be fully honest with his feelings no matter how much support they offered. 

“You’re getting everything right. I literally just failed that whole section. I don’t know why you’re freaking out.”

“It’s not the stupid test. It’s fine.” He clearly was not fine and Maggie glanced up at Went who too looked worried for their son. 

He nodded toward the door to the living room, silently asking if they should check in on the situation. She shook her head. Richie would just put up his usual facade that he held when it came to his parents. He did trust them. Maggie knew that. He disclosed most things with her but some things teenagers felt they had to bottle up and Richie did that more than the average teen in her opinion if history was anything to go by. 

“No it’s not, Rich.” Stan argues. “You’re literally shaking and you’re about to cry. You always get like this when we start doing this. If you’re that scared to take it, just put it off. The PSAT is just recommended…it’s not required. You don’t have to. You’re probably going to get a 100 on the real thing anyway.”

“It’s out of 1600.” Richie says meekly. 

“Okay then you’ll get a 1600.” Stan snorts. “You really don’t need to stress this much.”

“It’s not the stupid test. I just said that. Maybe if you listened you could pass this section.” Richie grumbles.

“Okay, what the hell is wrong then?” Stan asks a little harsher than he probably meant to because his voice immediately transitions into something more gentle. “Rich? Come on, I’m your best friend.”

“I know.” Richie responds. “I’m just scared of everything and I-I don’t know what I’m meant to do.”

“With what, Richie?”

“Everything.” He basically gasps and Maggie already knows he’s trying not to break down into a fit of sobs.

“Richie, it’s okay.” Stan says gently.

“I just don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t fit anywhere.”

“That’s why you’re a Loser.” Stan laughs. “And of course you do, Rich. We all love you and you might be the biggest moron on the planet but you’re really smart and I know you’ll do some great stuff one day.”

“But I’m not ready to do any of it. Everything is going too fast.” 

“What do you mean by that, Rich?”

“I-I’m not ready to… I’m not ready to grow up and I know that sounds stupid and pathetic but I--”

“Okay first of all, it doesn’t so stop calling your problems stupid, Richie. They’re not. If you being scared to grow up is stupid then me wanting to cry because I can’t touch the light switch in my room sixteen times is stupid and I should stop seeing my therapist.”

“But you hav--”

“And you have anxiety. Stop minimizing how you feel all the time. This is why you make yourself sick all the time.” Stan deadpans. “We all love you and we want to hear what you are feeling, okay?”

Richie must have agreed silently because Stan responds with, “Good. Now tell me what’s wrong without being mean to yourself.”

“I just am not ready for us all to be grown ups and I keep thinking about what you said about us all that summer.”

“What?”

“Will we still be friends when we’re our parents' ages? What if we’re not? I mean Bev isn’t talking t--”

“Rich, Bev probably has her own stuff right now. She just moved to a new school and is probably too busy to talk to all of us right now. We can’t just write it off like that. We shouldn’t. She loved us.”

“But what if she just… what if none of us are friends one day?”

That question itself is crushing to Maggie. She sees Richie being friends with his Losers forever but she’s not friends with anyone she grew up with and hasn’t contacted any of them since the day she left for college. Not even for breaks. But there is a bond in Richie and his friends that seems so unique to her and suggests that they’ll be friends forever but she can understand where the fear is coming from especially now that Bev has moved and has yet to contact them for some unknown reason. 

“Richie, we… I’m scared about that too. I always am but we have each other now and that’s what matters.”

“I’m not ready to grow up and everyone wants us to  _ now.  _ I don’t think I’m going to make it out there. I’m not going to fit in anywhere and I just feel lost. Everything is too scary, Stan. I don’t want to grow up. Everyone is looking forward to the future and I… I just want to stay here now and hold on to everything a bit longer. I’d go back if I could… even to  _ that  _ summer. I don’t want to grow up. I really don’t.”

Maggie can understand where Richie is coming from. She really can. Transitioning from a child and into a legal adult is truly daunting. Sure, Richie still has about a year and a half before he is considered an adult by the law and there is no way she and Went are going to send him off into the world without their parental support when he’s just eighteen but the mere thought of being deemed as an adult is something that is genuinely horrifying. There is a certain safety net that surrounds someone before they are eighteen. 

There is a kind of recklessness and carefree nature that bears no consequences when you’re still seen as a child. There is no need to think so much when you’re that young. Bare feet, dirty knees, and torn jeans are the only pitfalls that come from childhood. When eighteen rears its ugly head, that all goes away even with the most supportive parents. Gone is the exhilarating days spent with full hearts and heads thrown back in laughter and upon the horizon is the foreboding future of work and uncertainty that is certainly the root of her son’s fears. It’s such a complex set of fears brewing inside of him but it all makes sense why he doesn’t want to make a choice pertaining to his adulthood.

He doesn’t want to confirm the fact that he is no longer a child. 

“Everything and everyone is just changing and I don’t like it, Stan. Everyone has plans to do amazing things and I feel like you’re all running circles around me and I’m just sitting there waiting for someone to take a lap with me but no one wants to. Everyone has dream schools, scholarships, or ideas of who they want to be and I just don’t because I don’t know I never planned this far in advance because I didn’t think… I just... I was never ready to grow up and it seemed so far away just months ago and now everyone is telling me to do all these things and I can’t do it, Stan. I can’t.” 

There is a sound of bodies shifting. 

“You all keep reminding me that you have your shit together and yeah I’m happy for all of you guys but I don’t have my shit together. I never do. You all are visiting schools and already figuring out  _ where  _ you’re going and I don’t even know if I want to go and I know that’s probably dumb because everyone says I’m too smart to not to but I’m dumb where it counts and it fucking sucks, Stan. I don’t know who I want to be and to top everything else off, you’re all growing up and dating people now. Like, I’m going to be all by myself because you’re all gonna fall in love and get real people jobs and I’m just going to be lost and by myself.”

“Bill has his fucking what, fifth girlfriend of the month? You’ve been talking to that one girl in your French class, and Ben is obviously pining after Bev but that’s still something and I just feel like I’m so fucking behind on everything in comparison to you guys. I haven’t even kissed anyone beyond our stupid party games. Fuck.” He groans loudly.

“Okay.” Stan says, probably absorbing all the information her son has just unveiled from his well structured front. 

“Jesus.” Went whispers, eyes sad as he quietly places the lasagna in the oven. 

It’s a lot to take in and it feels mildly intrusive to have eavesdropped on this conversation that was clearly difficult for Richie to have but it’s impossible for her to truly understand her son to a full extent when he is not always willing to open up. He’s gotten better about it, sure, but there are still some things, important things, that Richie saves for his own buzzing mind and for his friends.

Maggie sighs quietly, rubbing at her temples, wanting nothing more than to go in there and pull her son into her arms and make him feel safe and like a kid again even for just a moment.

“Rich, it’s going to be okay and I know it’s really scary. I mean we’re all scared too, just maybe not the same way you are.” Stan tells him. “You’re going to figure all of this out. We’re not going to leave you behind in the dust. We wouldn’t do that to you. I stuck with your annoying ass as kids and I sure as hell am not leaving you now when you’re starting to become slightly more bearable and have started being actually funny and not just making dick jokes all the time.”

“You think I’m funny?”

“Not the point, asshole.” Stan huffs before continuing, “You’re going to find out what you’re meant to do and I know you’ll be great at it just like you are at everything else, you ass. And none of us are going to abandon you for stupid girlfriends or whatever. You’re going to find someone too, okay? You realize almost every girl in your theater club has the hots for you, right?” Stan chuckles. “I’m literally only hanging with Grace because she’s in my French class and yeah, Big Bill gets around. That’s just how he is. You’re going to find some lucky lad--”

“I’m gay.” Richie suddenly blurts and Maggie and Went are immediately startled by that confession. 

“Okay, lucky guy one day and find out what you want to do and everything is going to be okay.” Stan responds easily. “I promise.”

“I-I…” Richie is choking up clearly. “You’re not…”

“What?” Stan asks.

“I just told you I’m--”

“Gay. Yeah. I’m happy that you told me.” 

“You’re not mad or anything?”

“Why would I be mad, Richie?” Stan laughs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and that makes the tension that unknowingly built in Maggie’s shoulders diminish. “You’re my best friend and I don’t care what or who you like, so as long as  _ you’re  _ happy.”

“I don’t know. I’m just scared. I’ve only ever told my parents, Bev, and well, now you.” Richie hesitates before adding, “You won’t tell anyone… will you?”

“Of course not, Rich. It’s your thing to tell but it doesn’t have to be a secret, you know? No one would ever think of you differently, okay? This isn’t something to be ashamed of. It’s a part of you and you can embrace that. Be  _ proud _ .”

Richie is certainly crying now if the increased sniffles are anything to go by. “Thanks Stanny.”

“It’s okay, Rich. You’ll figure it out eventually and that’s what matters and we’re all gonna be there with you till you do, alright?”

“Alright.” 

xXx

**November 1992**

Went and Maggie never did tell Richie that they were able to hear everything that was said in the living room that evening. If they did, Richie may feel betrayed and they didn’t want that. They needed a way to understand their son to the best of their ability and that just seemed to work. However, they utilized the information that they’d gained to the best of their ability rather than letting him suffer in silence. 

He does, on his own, however, tearfully inform them that he did come out to Stan. He seemed to be happy beyond words and could not contain such feelings at being accepted by his longest standing friend and that was truly the brightest spark of joy Maggie had witnessed in her son since the fears surrounding his future had taken over a majority of his life. It was a beautiful sight and while it had not sparked him to come out to the remaining Losers, it was a promising step in the right direction. It was also nice that he had another person in Derry that knew this fact about him since Bev had left and had still not called. They were starting to accept that she would probably never call.

With the facts Maggie and Went had gathered from his conversation, they elected to approach Richie prior to his PSAT and attempt to assuage his thoughts of self-doubt and minimize the concerns he had about growing up. They made him realize he would always be their “little boy” even when his forehead developed lines and his hairline crept backward. There was no rush into growing up even if he was being forced to take steps in that direction. He didn’t really have to grow up right now and he seemed content hearing this not only from Stan but hearing it confirmed by his parents who were objectively successful individuals if their degrees were anything to go by-- but they really measured their success in the happy and balanced state their household had maintained for the last seventeen years. 

They let him know that he was doing just fine and he was allowed to be scared. If anything, he was smart for being scared and wasn’t just jumping head first into the first into his future-- something so unlike Richie’s typical decision-making process. He could do anything he wanted and he would always have the support of not only his friends, but her and Went as well and he needed to know that and he seemed to take that information in stride. 

He was still scared. That was not going to evaporate overnight, but he seemed more accepting of this fear and what it entailed. He knew he had to make choices and it was going to be gut-wrenchingly difficult but he was starting to realize that he could do it and he wouldn’t be alone in the process. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted and that was okay so he decided that maybe he would apply to a university with a distinguished arts program next year and go in undecided and potentially figure it out from there. The future was scary to him, but Maggie knew his would be bright. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope that was okay? Am the nervous. Also everyone's academic journey is their own and worth being proud of! We all take different paths and no path is right but in my own experience, I know almost all high schools have always pushed the "go to college" agenda since the 80s and that's the problem Richie is facing obviously and plus it's really  
> fucking hard to make that choice at such a young age. If ya in college now, good. If not, good. Do what ya need to, buckaroo.
> 
> I hope everyone is still taking care of themselves. Things are hard right now but we are slowly getting better but don't wreck that by protesting or by going out again! We can't afford to let this peak again! Keep it up! It's hard but focus on your wellbeing above all else right now! You deserve it! :)
> 
> Richie's fear of growing up is really based on my own experience. I actually wrote this fear out when I was younger and more talented than I am now (I used to be way more creative and funny but adulthood and depression killed that) I explained this fear to a therapist about the concept of having a safety net and she said it made sense and I hope the same message comes across now. Growing up is scary. I have what I like to call a Peter Pan complex. I am in denial that I am indeed growing up despite wanting to be independent and that's okay. Take ya time. 
> 
> Get yourself a Stan. did you catch the MINUSCULE it chapter 2 reference in him comforting Riche? did ya? 
> 
> Ahhh. Also I decided not to be rude and end on such a blunt note. eheh. The remainder of the HS chapters (wow I can't believe we're almost done with HS) are a little fluffy because I am soft and aren't the most thrilling of chapters but the end of his high school experience? Ouch.
> 
> I will be taking an indefinite hiatus here soon. Idk how many chapters I can get out before then because I'm approaching some confusing topics up ahead so yeah. I am moving which is really hard during all these stay at home orders and I will have to wait for a cable company to hook me up so I'll have nothing except my phone for a while and I'm not about to bust out a 5k chapter on my apple notes. Ooof. It all depends and I hope I get hooked up fast!
> 
> I'm in the middle of writing a Barry AU (which I'm pausing just so I can rewatch Barry and get re-familiarized with the character and everyone does AUS of Adult Richie as Bill Hader's former roles or whatever and what I have never seen is him as Aaron Conners. Like... why didn't that happened. We need Eddie's reaction to Richie, his gross, disgusting, germ-infested Richie becoming a famous sports doctor. I mean Richie is smart enough to be a doctor. . When he tells the Losers he's a doctor he would be sure to say Yeah I scored on Lebron James last month... SOMEONE MAKE IT HAPPEN. 
> 
> Stay healthy kids :)
> 
> Eddie is mad at Richie for buying himself a face mask off Amazon that is the same print as one of his heinously printed shirts and it is not medical grade and does not pass the fire test. Richie cries because Eddie throws it away and forces him to wear a boring one anytime he has to go out in public but he's finding a way to get Richie a custom medical-grade one that is the same print as the discarded one. :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update bc I still don't know what day I'm moving!!!! 
> 
> Easily the worst chapter yet definitely the least interesting and is solely to serve as redemption against the shitty cousins and aunt from earlier chapters!!!! don't keep yourself close to family that hurts you
> 
> but if you wanna skip away from a chapter that ill probably get second hand embarrassment from if i read it randomly one day, feel free. 
> 
> TW: Cancer and discussions of dying for a minor character.

Maggie knew Family did not have to include blood.

**December 1992**

Although watching Richie get older was the hardest thing Maggie had to do, she could not pretend that getting older _herself_ was anything similar to a walk in the park. Being in your late thirties is significantly different than being in your late twenties. Her late twenties were the start of a few stiff joints and an inability to drink anything more than half a glass of wine during her nights with the other moms. If she attempted to complete a full glass, the next day would be spent perpetually hungover and miserable. However, for the most part her late twenties were incredibly simple. Richie was still in elementary school and she and Went could (almost) keep up with his explosive energy without missing a single beat. 

Now, things were a bit different. A lot of things hurt more than they used to and they certainly cracked a lot louder. A lot of foods aren’t the wisest idea after 5 p.m. for some odd reason. Her body feels slower even though time feels faster. She’s definitely not old by any means even if Richie likes to say she is anytime he is feeling exceptionally sassy.

She does have a few strands of grey that don’t really stand out in her already light-colored curls-- unlike Went’s whose own white hairs are a stark contrast against his black locks. Her and Went are both in pretty decent shape for their late thirties and if looking at old family photos is any indicator how they’re going to shape up to be, there’s not much to worry about in that department.

They each have objectively nice figures but have naturally lost the sharp edges of protruding bone that came with a youthfully fast metabolism and gone were the firm lines of defined muscle that seemed to tone with minimal effort. In their place were gentle curves and slightly squishier bits that are nothing too bothersome for either of them. They could make it better if they wanted to but having fairly busy schedules and a scrawny teenager that brings them home fast food after he’s been out with friends as a way of apologizing for missing curfew makes it near impossible. Plus, they don’t really care that much anyway. 

Went was always tall and had been lanky when he was younger. He’s steadily grown to be more proportioned as the years went by and he started filling out as his metabolism slowed with age and truly, it made him more attractive in her opinion-- which was the only opinion that really mattered to him. Maggie could still get away with wearing a two-piece comfortably if she wanted to-- not that the shape of a body determined that. She knew it was about personal feelings and she felt absolutely fine wearing one at their own pool but she doubted she would in a more public setting like a beach or something. Things definitely pinched a little more but it was nothing to cause concern. 

Their physical forms were the points that demonstrated the most obvious indicators of aging. Sometimes it was a nuisance with the cracking knees and sore backs, but it was definitely the least of their concerns. What was most pressing as she got older was the fact that as she got older, she had to watch other people, people she loved, get older too. She had to witness mortality become a legitimate concept to be taken into serious consideration. Life was not eternal, she knew that much but experiencing it was totally different. Her father, who she was never particularly close to, had been gone for years and it never really bothered her much. He wasn’t a bad man by any means; there just wasn’t a sincere connection there. What did bother her however, was the fact that her mother had fallen ill with an aggressive form of leukemia-- Acute Myeloid Leukemia-- and she had to accept the fact that this was going to be the very last Christmas she _could_ spend with her mother.

She’d received the news not long after Thanksgiving and it had truly been one of the worst things to filter through her mind. She had sobbed hysterically into Went’s arms when she broke down and told him the news. He had held her, stroking her curls quietly as she lamented the idea of being without her mother. Sure, she didn’t see her mom very often seeing as her mom meant the company of her very unpleasant older sister, Linda, but it didn’t diminish the genuine love she felt for her mother. She’d had a few day visits back in the summer but never spent an extended amount of time there and it was understandable what with her own schedule and the tension that always arose with her sister living not far from their mother’s home but even then she felt a deep seated regret for not pushing that aside to see her more. She knew she couldn’t do that to herself but it was still there in the back of her mind.

Richie hadn’t taken well to the news either. When she sat him down and explained that his grandma was dying, he seemed at a loss for words at first-- something very concerning when it came to Richie. His shoulders had dropped and he’d attempted to speak but all that came out was a croak. He just wrapped his lanky arms around her and held his mother while she broke down. It felt odd to be comforted by her child but her Richie had always been in tune to the emotions of others and was excellent at soothing others. He sat there, holding her close, resting his chin on her head as tears silently rolled down his cheeks. 

It was hard news to process. The idea of not being able to call her mother when something exciting happened with Richie or when she herself was feeling a little down and needed to hear the type of reassurance only a mother could provide was truly agonizing to even consider for the briefest of moments. The thought of soon being unable to turn to her mother in times of need, when she had done that her entire life, is perhaps the worst thing she will have had to endure up to this point. She has never had to exist without knowing her mother could and would be there if she needed her and now she’s going to have to continue the rest of her life without that.

She’s going to want to call, to just hear her voice. She’ll probably dial the digits by muscle memory the day Richie finishes drafting his graduation speech to ask if she’s coming only to remember she is no longer a physical presence in their lives. She will want to go to see her on a summer day when she’s off work and Richie is off with his friends at the quarry only to realize there is no longer a home for her back in her hometown. Just a home that will later be given away in a will or inhabited by some new family that will not know the great woman who had raised her to be the woman she is now. Maggie hopes Richie will think of her the same way when he too is approaching forty and will feel like he can call her when he’s thrilled, sad, or just because for some reason, he wants to hear her voice. 

They ended up having to shift their Christmas plans once she received the news. After Richie had been let out of school for his two week long winter break, they loaded their car with luggage and were now driving carefully across the slick roads toward her mother’s house. They would be spending the entirety of their winter break with her mother and that could potentially be the last time she’d get to see her in her home and not fading away in some hospital room. She knew she would be returning up to her mother’s not too long after they would return home from the holiday. AML was fast-acting and aggressive upon the victim that was forced to endure it. She would not let her mother be alone when the time came.

“We have everything, yes?” Maggie asks as Went slowly turns out of the neighborhood and follows the path toward the highway.

“We should, yes.” Went answers, eyes focused on the roads before him.

“Yup.” Richie says, popping the p. The tone in the car is solemn. It is not one of joy or excitement for seeing her mother. It is sad and pained with a hint of fear that has accompanied her and Richie ever since he was first subject to his torturous cousins. He hasn’t seen them since he was in middle school and sure, they were all considered to be adults while Richie was the youngest at sixteen and the circumstances by which they were meeting were ones of sorrow, but Maggie knew that would not stop them from giving him shit especially with the state Richie was in. 

“How’s the foot, baby?” She asks Richie. “Did you take ibuprofen before we left or do you need some?” She is already fiddling with her purse.

“No. I got some.” He answers and she shoots him a tender smile through the rearview mirror. Richie is currently in a rather “gimpy” state with a bulky cast surrounding his entire left foot and covering his entire calf, just under the knee. Across the floor of the car are a pair of crutches that have successfully bruised the living hell out of her son’s underarms despite the layers of cloth she’d wrapped around the tops of them. 

He was not thrilled to be out of commission in various facets of his life, but has not lamented much about it much to her surprise. Normally, Richie was one to whine till the cows came home, but it seems Richie could gauge the gravity of everything that was going on and had barely voiced any complaint ever since the injury first occurred not long after she received the news of her mother’s deteriorating health.

A wrench had obviously been thrown into their typical holiday plans with this dreadful news and things obviously didn’t get better with Richie’s clumsiness. In the past, after she stopped going to her mother’s for the holiday, the holidays were spent in Derry, with her family, and some of Richie’s friends, primarily Eddie who would mush through the snow in order to spend the day with whom he could feel more at ease with. The Uris family always came over and would enjoy a few hot toddies and a grand meal despite not necessarily engaging in the affairs of the holiday. They could enjoy the festivities and the spirit regardless. 

This year was obviously dedicated to celebrating her mother’s life and giving her one last hoorah seeing as this was a battle that could not be won. With these unfortunate happenings, it was hard to develop the holiday spirit this year with the niggling thought of no longer having her mother a constant dagger in the back of her mind. She needed a way to feel less distraught about the situation so not longer after receiving the call, she and Went agreed to still have the house set up for the holidays and to celebrate with Eddie before they would leave for winter break. He was good at masking his disappointment in that he would be forced to spend his holiday with his overbearing mother and not his found family. 

However, Eddie was understanding and was not one to put his feelings first in such conditions. He was more than delighted when invited to engage in some festivities a little early just a few weeks after they rearranged their holiday plans and not long before Derry High was set to release kids for winter break. Maggie wanted to not only distract herself and put herself in a better mood before going to her mother’s, but she also did not want Eddie to feel abandoned while they were gone. 

They decided to still decorate their home and go about their usual baking traditions. It created a warmth and as cliche as it sounded, a jolly feeling throughout the Tozier home in their trying times. Went took responsibility for minimally decorating the outside with some wreaths and a few icicle lights that twinkled against the several feet of snow that would most likely not melt away until March or April. She and Richie were set to hang stockings, put up the tree and all of its dazzling lights, ornaments, and tinsel, and bake cut-out Christmas cookies to decorate. They’d invited Eddie over for their early holiday festivities to not only help them make the house feel a little lighter in their state of affairs but to also provide him with the holiday experience he would not get this year. Eddie always proved to be infinitely more helpful in those aforementioned areas than Richie could ever be-- not that Maggie didn’t appreciate Richie’s help.

She more so enjoyed spending time with him and watching his eyes twinkle behind his glasses and his mouth involuntarily twist into a child-like grin as he hung ornaments in a haphazard manner with little rhyme or reason and completely neglecting the back of the tree. She always ended up having to shift the bulbs around in order to fill the spaces he left bare. It was amusing to see his tongue between his teeth as he placed sprinkles on the sugar cookies with careful precision that could be used to create something stunning but was instead used to make the most crude designs that she would force him to eat because there was no way she wanted to consume a star cut-out that had blue sprinkles on it, forming a surprisingly detailed penis. If Richie put the same amount of energy into actual decorating, maybe pastry decorating could be in his still fairly undetermined future, but trying to make him do something a little more appropriate was simply out of the question.

She just appreciated his company as he was simply a glimmering light in these less than pleasant times, but truly, a lot more was getting accomplished as Eddie was certainly more careful with his ornament placement and made the most beautiful and non-phallic themed cut-out cookies. Richie ended up giving up on contributing to their baking efforts and had started teasing Eddie for his cookie designs whilst eating sprinkles out of their containers.

Went walked in, face red from the biting cold. Maine was unforgiving in the winter months. They had all grown up there but that never made the feeling of the winter months any easier. The air was absolutely excruciating and felt like needles on any exposed piece of skin. Truly, the only benefit that accompanied the cold was the beautiful blanket of snow that had fallen across Derry. However, even that could serve as a nuisance as the Toziers later discovered that day because with snow, came ice, and with ice, came the literal downfall of her klutz of a son. 

“Done already, sweetie?” Maggie asked him as she smoothed some red icing over the bottom half of a stocking cut-out. She would have to make more white icing she realized as Richie dipped a spoon into the sugary sweetness. He had definitely double-dipped if the glare Eddie shot him was any indication.

“No.” He grunts, a wince crossing over his face. “I got the trees done outside but I don’t think I can do the roof right now. My back is killing me.”

“Richie, do you think you can do it?” Maggie asked her son who was arguing with Eddie. Eddie had needed the sprinkles that Richie was inhaling but Richie was not willing to hand over the container. 

“I dunno, Mags. I can just do it tomorrow”

“I don’t want you to strain yourself. We’re not going to even be here anyway.” She catches the slight flicker of sadness across Eddie’s face. “We don’t _need_ lights outside. It’s not the end of the world.”

“I can do it.” Richie said with a shrug, sliding the sprinkles away to a scowling Eddie as he leaves to grab his winter wear.

“You sure, Rich?” Went calls as he makes himself a mug of hot chocolate in an attempt to warm his chilled body.

“Yeah!” He responds from the living room, grunting as he forces his feet into his snow boots. 

As Went chugs his drink, Richie enters the kitchen wearing not enough layers for her liking but as many as she knew he’d be willing to wear.

“Alright old man, show me what to do.”

“Watch yourself, Richard.” Went huffs, leaving Maggie and Eddie to their decorating.

“So, how’s winter track been, sweetheart? Do you need new shoes at all?”

“Mine are still good, thank you!” Eddie answered, smiling at her as he meticulously placed silver and gold sprinkles on a bell cookie. “And, it’s been going pretty well. I’m trying to get a new PR in the 400 but it’s always a lot harder on the indoor track.”

She hums in understanding. She herself never did track and can barely comprehend how much physical effort it requires, but she can easily see where it can be difficult in stale, indoor air on a track that has much sharper turns as opposed to the outdoor one where while it might be bitter cold or excruciatingly humid out, it’s still easier to breathe and the curves are more gradual and definitely easier on one’s knees. 

“I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart.” She told him. “I’m sure you’re excited to run in college.”

He nods in earnest. “Yeah!” He was beaming. “I think I’ve narrowed down a few schools. It’s just really hard to pick one! I might try and visit a few of them over the summer if I plan my cards, right.”

“We would definitely take you if that became a problem.” She tells him.

“I will need to figure out a way to tell my mom because as far as she’s concerned, she still thinks I’m staying in Derry with her forever.”

“Goodness, no.” Maggie chuckled. “You have too much talent to rot away here. I will not let you stay here any longer than necessary.”

“Thanks Mrs. T.” Eddie said kindly. “I’m… I’m sorry about your mom”

Her shoulders had dropped a little at that. “Thank you, sweetheart. That really means a lot.”

“Of course. I really hope everything goes okay up there. Richie says his cousins are kinda...uh jackasses.”

“Oh they are.” She snorted, blinking away tears that stung the back of her eyes. “It’ll be okay though. We’re there for my mom and that’s it. Richie loves his grandma.”

“I can tell.” Eddie smiled. “I’ll miss you guys but thanks for still having me over.”

“If you think I’m giving you your gifts early, you’re sorely mistaken Eddie Spaghetti.” She teased him.

“I don’t even expect you guys to get me stuff!” He laughed and a small flush crossed his face. “You really don’t need to.”

“We always do. You are ours and you can’t forget that.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “We will miss you too though. I know I’ll definitely have plenty of bickering at my mother’s to handle but nothing will compare to the incessant disturbances you and Richie create every single year.” 

“Hey, he starts it.”

“I never said he didn’t, love.” Maggie flicked a little bit of powdered sugar at him.

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Eddie snorted. 

And like some cruel joke, the world decided to play on the topic of falling. There was a loud shout from outside accompanied by the sound of what could only be a metal ladder crashing down. Maggie immediately dropped everything, slipped on a pair of slippers, and sprinted outside where she found Went panicking over Richie who had his head thrown back in pain as he bit his lip bloody to prevent any crying. Eddie was quick to follow and followed Maggie outside after shoving his feet into his own snow boots. 

“What happened?” She cried as she approached Richie and Went. 

“He slipped trying to come down and brought the ladder down with him.” Went explained. 

Eddie was shaking snow out of Richie’s hat and feeling his head for any bumps. “Are you okay? What’s your name?”

“Didn’t hit my fucking head.” Richie grunted, clearly in pain. “My foot was still stuck in the rung.” 

“It’s probably broken.” Maggie sighed. “Come on, let's get him inside and get that boot off.” Went and Eddie each slid their arms under his and helped him hobble toward the freshly decorated living room. 

They helped ease him onto the couch and Eddie sat himself next to Richie, examining his face. “You’re lucky your glasses aren’t broken.”

“Yeah. I’m real fucking l--” He let out a very masculine yelp as Maggie untied his boot and managed to slip it off. She had tried not to jostle him too much but it was nearly impossible. 

“I’m just being nice. Want me to snap it back into place for you?” Eddie teased, easily eliciting a weak giggle from her boy. She vaguely knew the inside joke surrounding that statement with Richie having tried to “fix” Eddie’s arm back during that one summer.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” He chortled back, wincing painfully as Maggie slid his sock off to reveal an already swelling foot. “Oh that’s gross.” He gagged.

“It looks like meatloaf.” Went added simply.

“Yeah, we need to get him to the ER.” Maggie sighed. “Eddie you can hang here if you want or we can ta--”

“I’ll go.” Eddie told them. 

“You just want to make fun of me.”

“No shit, Einstein.”

Richie had broken a bone in his foot and in his ankle and he would be stuck in his cast for about four to six weeks. He had been an excellent trooper about the situation after getting his foot casted (which ended up covered with a plethora of doodles from the Losers when he returned to school the week after his injury) and sticking to taking it easy. He was supposed to be in the winter musical but seeing as he was just barely hobbling about, his under study took over and he simply helped direct and control the entire production through the three performance nights. He didn’t mind too much. He had been disappointed as he always worked so hard on his parts, but Richie knew he would be likely to score a lead come the spring performance.

“Feeling okay, then?” She asks him.

“Yeah. It doesn’t really hurt anymore. It’s just itchy.” Richie responds, demonstrating his discomfort by wiggling his foot slightly.

“Just don’t get a ruler stuck in it again.” She reprimands.

“I won’t.” He defends halfheartedly. “Is Grandma doing okay, today?”

“As good as she can. They’ve given her some medication to make everything more bearable. She will probably have to be taken to a hospital next month and stay there for… for the remainder of her life.”

“Does she have to stay _there?_ Wouldn’t she want to stay home?” Richie questions.

“Probably, yes.” Maggie sighs. Richie, as smart as he is, has not been subject to a lot of death in his life. Sure, he’s known people who have died in their more distant family or Bill’s brother… but this was different. Supremely different. He never had to see someone dying in an expected manner. While it didn’t have the same pain as losing someone unexpectedly to an accident or some deranged mullet-wearing racist, there was a pain that came with _knowing_ your time with someone was limited and that each day was merely a countdown for their sickly body. “She needs to be in a hospital to make sure she’s comfortable. The doctors know how to make her passing less painful.”

“I know.” He says, but he definitely doesn’t. “I just think it’s probably more comfortable to be at home than around a ton of machines.”

He means well. He really does. He, for all he’s been through, is still innocent and naive. He only considers what is _best_ for people or what appears most ideal. He does not wish to account for what is realistic for people, for realistic situations are rarely as blissful as one could wish.

“I know.” She sighs and he can ready into her tone enough that she no longer wishes to focus on the subject matter so instead, in atypical fashion, the Toziers are completely silent for the entire drive. 

xXx

They arrive at her mother’s a couple of hours later, the sky a solid violet not that it’s that late. The solstice is just around the corner and the sun only makes short appearances before dipping below the horizon and leaving Maine in an incessantly chilled state. She swings her bags and one of Richie’s over her shoulder while Went takes responsibility for carrying some of the bulkier stuff and ensuring that Richie doesn’t snap his other foot while attempting to crutch across the slick ground. 

She knocks at the door and her mother is quick to answer and she cannot help but feel a surge of pain in looking at her. She’s thinner than Maggie has remembered seeing her, her eyes, although bright and cheery are sunken into her face that seems to have aged a decade since she was last here back in the summer months. 

“Hi mom.” Maggie says, allowing herself to be pulled into a hug that feels almost too delicate for comfort. 

“Hi Maggie. You look beautiful, as always.” She smiles, placing a clammy hand to her youngest daughter’s cheek. “Such dazzling eyes.”

“Mom, I--”

“Shh. There is nothing to say. I just want this time to be happy, okay?” Her mom says. “It can be now, anway. Your sister isn’t even here right now so you have no reason to worry. Hmm?”

She gives a wet laugh. “Yeah.”

“Oh, is that my not-so-little Richie?” Her mother calls as Richie hobbles up the porch, his backpack slung over one shoulder and clearly disturbing his already pathetic sense of balance. “Look at you! What’ve you done to yourself this time boy?”

“I slipped off a ladder.” He answers, managing to give her a half hug while holding a crutch beneath his armpit. “It’s good to see you, Grandma.”

“Always good to see you too, sweet pea. Those teeth are looking quite beautiful.” She admires, inspecting his mouth with her bony fingers. Maggie thinks it’s just a thing that happens when a mother evolves into a grandma. A sense of personal space is no longer a thing and that means shoving your fingers in your grandkid’s mouths to see their braced teeth and pinching their cheeks. 

Richie laughs meekly, gently moving her fingers out of his mouth. “Uh yeah. Not so bucky anymore.”

“I liked him bucky.” Her mother says, helping them all into the house. “Now just get yourselves settled. I’ve made some soup.”

“Mom!” Went says, pulling her into a hug. “I don’t get a hello?”

“Of course you do.” She laughs sweetly. “How’s the office, Wentworth?”

“Ah, it’s going.” She answers. “There was no need to cook for us. We would have been happy to.”

“Oh nonsense. It gives me something to do.” And it looks as if she’s definitely kept herself busy despite the diagnosis and the pain she is undoubtedly experiencing as her body slowly gives away on her. The home is decorated, perhaps not as much as theirs is back in Derry, but there is a small tree that features some ornaments Maggie remembers her mother buying in her childhood, and the little Christmas villages with meticulously painted little characters, and wool stocking that her own grandmother had made for them before Maggie could even speak. 

“The house looks nice, mom.” Maggie comments as she and Went start carrying things up and Richie leads the way, having mastered the art of crutches and stairs. He’s struggling ever so slightly as her mother’s steps are steeper than the ones back home.

“Of course it does, Maggie. _I_ did it after all.” 

Maggie laughs at that. Her mother has always been a sweet woman, but had a little layer of sass beneath the soft smiles and kind eyes. She doesn’t want to imagine life without that.

They get settled into their own rooms and then join together in the living room for their dinner with A Christmas Carol, the version with George C. Scott as that’s her mother’s favorite, playing on the television. It’s a peaceful affair and it’s not long until Richie’s slumped over, mumbling in his sleep about Spaghetti and freckles. She knows what _that’s_ code for but manages to hide her own laugh behind her hand. Rather than waking the boy, Went manages to scoop him up, blessed by the fact that Richie’s weight probably won’t catch up this height until he’s in his later twenties. It’s still not an easy feat but Went is still just capable of lugging their son about when he dozes off (or when he comes home very not sober). It makes Maggie’s heart lurch just slightly. She can’t remember the last time she picked Richie up for the last time and put him down, never to pick him up again for he is now much too heavy for her. She wonders when that day will come for Went too and if he also fears that day.

xXx

The first half of their visit despite the circumstances is peaceful. They bake cookies with her mother, watch an abundance of Christmas Classics, play a couple of games, and enjoy each other’s company. Of course the peace is inevitably disturbed when Linda and her children arrive on Christmas Eve. They still live extremely close to her mother, but have (luckily) not come along to the house up until this point. Maggie feels a pang of dread in the pit of her stomach but she is attempting to be optimistic that perhaps her sister is capable of being something close to decent in these circumstances and that given their ages, that her niece and nephews might be less satanic. 

“Hi Linda.” She greets with a strained smile, giving a loose hug to her sister. 

“Hi Mags.” She says and for a moment Maggie thinks there might be a little gentleness behind her eyes.

Everyone exchanges formalities and they end up chatting for a moment when their mother walks in insisting they all get into the dining room for Christmas Eve dinner.

“Oh, get in the dining room! Went has already helped me set the table!” Her mother says, face a little peaky. She’d been ill yesterday, clammy and weak, but is on somewhat of an upward spiral. Dips in her health are to be expected. They’ll only become more common as the disease progresses because she is not receiving treatment for it as it would only make her remaining time just that more miserable. It’s not something Maggie likes to think about and she knows she should focus on the enjoyable moments she has left with her mom, but the intrusive thoughts are relentless in darkening her mood.

Maggie seats herself on the right side of the head of the table where her mother sits. Went is on her other side and Richie sits at the far end of the table where he can perch his crutches against a wall should he need some quick escape. Her sister takes the other seat next to her mother and her three kids scatter about the table. They each pile their plates with delicious-looking food and conversation comes easy. There is an unexpected ease in the room. It’s sad, but it seems it took such conditions to bring her sister down from her condescending nature. She does, however, notice her sister staring at Richie for a second longer than expected. Sure, it’s been a while since she saw him, but it’s odd to her. 

“So, how’s college been going for the three of you?” Went asks kindly, turning to Linda’s kids.

“Pretty good.” Jenna says, a shrug bouncing her shoulders. She looks more like her Linda than ever Maggie realizes. “I’m a sophomore now so I have the swing of things now.”

“What are you going to school for?” Maggie asks.

“I think something in journalism. A lot of my professors think I have a natural writing voice and I’d like to give it a go.”

“That’s great!” Maggie says with a smile. “What about you boys?”

“It’s hard but I really like it.” David says and Daniel nods in agreement, unable to speak for he’s just taken a giant bite of sweet potatoes. As twins they obviously look alike and even with two copies of one another, Maggie cannot quite pinpoint who in the family they really look like. “We’re still undecided right now, but we’ll figure it out.”

“They’re all doing great.” Linda beams. 

“Well, that is amazing.” Maggie says with a kind smile.

“I think I’m behind the intelligence in our grandkids.” Their mother says with a wink, reaching for more bread. 

“You can take all the credit.” Maggie snorts.

“So what are you up to now, Richie?” Her sister asks and all heads turn to her son. “Also, what on earth did you get yourself into?”

He gives a weak laugh, neck going a faint shade of red. “I fell off a ladder decorating for Christmas with my dad.”

“Damn. That sucks.” Daniel comments.

“Yeah and uh I’m still a junior so I’m still working stuff out.” He answers with a shrug.

“And of course he’s a genius.” His grandma boasts. “Always has been.” Richie’s shoulders slump slightly and Maggie sees the beginnings of a scowl across her sister’s face. Luckily her mom remains oblivious. “Oh don’t be modest! Maggie told me he’s first in his class and already directing plays for his theater club!”

Richie just shrugs, giving his grandmother a soft smile. 

“Theater?” Linda almost laughs and Maggie shoots her a look. Linda’s always made snide remarks about Richie since he was a kid and uttered the cruelest slurs. “That’s not surprising.”

“Why do you say that?” Went questions, not unkindly but there is a challenge in his voice.

Maggie places her hand on his knee, squeezing what she knows to be a pressure point. They are not wrecking this dinner because of her sister who she notices is on her third glass of wine already. This does not bode well. 

“Oh just how he was as a kid.” Linda answers, a rather wicked grin on her face. “He was always so dramatic!” She laughs and her kids join in.

Richie shrugs, clearly humiliated but attempting to maintain composure. “I mean I guess. I don’t know. I just like it.”

“And you’re good at it.” Maggie says, offering him an encouraging smile.

“So,” Went says, always one to take over and change the subject when tensions got too high, “What else is new?”

“Well, Jenna is moving in with her boyfriend next semester.” Linda says and Jenna smiles excitedly at that.

“He is a nice young man.” Their mother comments. “He met me not long ago. Good head on his shoulders. 

“That’s really exciting, Jenna.” Maggie responds with a kind smile. “What about the boys? Anything exciting for them?”

“Well, David has been talking to a new girl and Daniel is still with his high school sweetheart. I think he’s gonna marry that one.” Linda answers delightedly, pouring the rest of the wine into her own glass.

Daniel blushes at that. “Mom, I don’t know yet.”

“Oh shush. She’s a sweet girl.” Linda scoffs. 

“I do remember liking her… Ashley was it?” their mother asks.

Daniel nods. “Yeah, she’s really cool.”

They continue talking about their relationships and future plans with their significant others and then again the attention is meandered back to Richie somehow.

“Any special lady out there for you, Richie?” Her mom asks because of course she would ask that. She doesn’t know and she’s not exactly capable of reading the tension that bleeds into Richie’s face as she says that. Went glances at Maggie briefly as he makes use of himself in picking up all the dirty dishes. She just looks at him and shrugs silently.

“No. Not right now.” He answers, sitting back in his seat.

“No one?” Jenna asks. “Do you like anyone?”

 _Yes._ Maggie thinks. “No.” Richie says. 

“What about that red-headed girl your mom said you always ran around with?” Her mother asks.

“Uh Bev? Bev is a friend and I think she likes my friend Hays-- Ben.” Richie stammers. 

“Just a friend?” Jenna teases playfully but Richie seems uncomfortable. Playful teasing is reserved for people that didn’t bully you to tears as a toddler. She certainly doesn’t fall under the category of People Allowed To Make Fun of Richard Wentworth Tozier Without Consequences. “I don’t buy it!”

“Uh well that’s the truth.” Richie mutters. 

“Bev is a nice girl but definitely not Richie’s type.” Went says as he returns from the kitchen, flashing a gentle smile. “She’s like a sister.”

“Oh no worries, there. You’re a handsome young man.” His grandma encourages. He seems to bounce back a bit at that but of course that can only last for a fraction of a second.

“Why? Is it ‘cause she’s a girl?” Linda asks, a slur caught in the back of her throat. Maggie feels her jaw clench and she shoots daggers at her sister who snorts a little. “Oh, Mags. Don’t be so uptight. It’s a standard question.”

“That’s not your business.” Richie tells her, swallowing thickly.

“But we’re family. I think we should know this kind of stuff about each other. If there’s a fairy in the family I think we sh--”

“Linda, that’s enough.” Their mother scolds. “Richie doesn’t owe anyone anything. I’m sorry to bring up that subject.”

“It’s okay.” Richie mumbles quietly.

“Are you, though?” David sneers.

“That's _enough_.” Maggie snaps suddenly. 

“Don’t yell at my son.” Linda yells.

“Oh, after you uttered a slur about my son?”

“It’s only a slur if the shoe fits, Margaret.”

“Can you not be awful right now?” Maggie hisses. “This is supposed to be a nice dinner for mom but of course you’re set on ruining it by being a complete bitch to my family.”

“You can’t have a simple conversation without getting offended. I _always_ knew what he would be and you just cover it up by boasting about how he’s smart. High test scores can’t fix him.”

“There’s _nothing_ to be fixed!” Richie snaps suddenly. “It’s my business and my business only.” Stan told him to be proud and being proud meant recognizing that there was nothing wrong with him and defending himself when necessary. 

“So you are.” Jenna remarks snidely. 

“It’s not your business!” Richie snaps. 

“Okay, okay, let’s all just relax, now.” Went attempts. “You guys need to drop this subject. It really is no one’s business. Let’s just enjoy this dinner, okay?”

“I’m sorry if I made any assumptions, sweet pea.” Their mother says, offering Richie a small smile. 

“It’s okay.” Richie says softly. 

“I think as a family we deserve to know this stuff about each other.” Linda spits.

“Linda, can’t you just drop it?” Maggie pleads. “Mom wants a nice dinner and you’re ruining it.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not family to me anyway.” Richie mutters.

“What was that?” Linda demands, face red from the wine but flushing brighter as fury burns fiercely through her veins.

“I said you’re _not_ family to me anyway. The only people that are my family here are my parents and Grandma. The rest of you can kindly fuck off.” Richie snaps loudly, grabbing his crutches. “Sorry Grandma… I need a minute.”

“Take your time, sweet pea. It’s okay.” She says, reaching a bony hand to his shoulder as he crutches by. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Maggie hisses.

“Oh come on. It’s not my fault he stormed away.”

“I think it’s time for bed.” Their mother decides loudly. “Thank you for cleaning up, Went.”

The kids thank their grandmother before going up to one of the guest rooms. Linda mumbles an apology before hugging their mother goodnight and heading upstairs. Maggie sighs, slumping in her chair.

“I’m sorry, mom.” Maggie mumbles. “I just couldn’t let her say things like that about him. It’s _his_ thing.”

“No, of course. You didn’t do anything wrong. I know that. I’ve always known that, Maggie.” 

Maggie offers a sheepish smile. “I should watch my temper. I know that.”

“You just wanted to keep some sanity. I appreciate that but it’s okay.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Richie’s not my little buck toothed baby anymore, now is he.”

“No. He’s not.” Maggie laughs. She remembers overhearing Bev saying that Richie would grow into his looks and he doesn’t see it himself just yet, but Maggie thinks he definitely has. He’s objectively a handsome young man, not that her opinion will ever matter and he’s too dense to notice the way a certain someone looks at him. He has rather distinct features-- a prominent nose, a square jaw from Went that is juxtaposed against the high cheek bones she gave him. He’s almost all leg and still stick-thin but he’ll grow into that as he gets older too. 

“I was worried about him for a while, you know?” 

“What do you mean?” She cocks her head in curiosity.

“Well, he’s a beautiful boy don’t get me wrong but he did look rather strange there for a bit.” Her mom says with a faraway look on her face. 

Maggie cackles at that. “It’s called an awkward stage for a reason, mom!”

“Oh, I know!” Her mother claims. “He was just a little funky looking for a bit.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that. He’s sensitive.”

“Nothing wrong with that. He’s always been a sweetheart and he’s as handsome as can be now… that’s why I asked those questions. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, mom. They’ll find any reason to pick on him.”

“I know Linda isn’t your favorite person.” 

“I know. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t be fighting with her for this Christmas, when you’re sick.”

“When I’m dying, Maggie.” Her mother corrects and Maggie hates it. “It’s okay. You can say that.”

“I don’t want to.” Maggie sniffles, thankful it’s just her and her mother now. “I don’t want to ruin your… your last holiday. I’m really sorry.”

“You haven’t ruined a thing. Tomorrow is going to be great and I know that. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“I just want this to be special for you.” 

“You’re all here. That’s all I ask for, Maggie.” She smiles kindly, cupping her cheek. “I know you were just defending Richie. Linda’s always been jealous of you and I love her but I know how she is, Maggie. 

“I just don’t like how she’s always treated Richie. He’s good at hiding it but he’s sensitive and these kinds of things hurt his feelings a lot.”

“She’s jealous of you. You were always the one everyone liked-- always so sweet and funny.” Maggie snorts at that. “Oh I mean it. No one could ever dislike you, Maggie-May. She hated that as a kid and I probably did baby you a little too much. That’s my own fault.”

“You did great with us, mom.”

“Oh I know that.” She insists and a sad smile replaces the one created by their own nostalgia and happiness. “I know how your sister has been to you. I know she has a mean streak in her and I don’t expect you to put up with that. I hope you never thought I did.” 

“We always just tried to keep you out of it.” Maggie sighs. “I never wanted to bring the fight around you.”

“I know. I was never surprised that you had to run out all those times you visited with Richie. I’m sorry she said such vile things about you and him and that her kids tormented him so much that he never wanted to come here.”

“He loves you so much. It’s not because of you.” 

“I know.” She says. “I love your sister very much. I always will.”

“I do too.” Maggie tells her.

“I know that but I want you to know something.”

“What’s that, mom?”

“I’ve lived a happy life, Maggie. A very happy life.”

“I’m glad.” She chokes a little.

“You were part of that. So was your sister.” Maggie thinks she knows where this is going. Her mother wants them to mend their relationship when she passes and if that’s what she wants, Maggie will make sure that happens. “I want you to be happy too.”

“I know that.” She says, smiling weakly.

“And if that means not having your sister in your life, I understand that.”

“Wait, what?”

“Family isn’t only blood, Maggie.” She says. “You know that. You always spend your holidays stress free and happy when you’re with his friends and their parents. I don’t expect you to keep this up when I’m gone and continue to be miserable with your sister.”

“But I love spending the holidays with you. I always have.” She quickly defends.

“I know that. I do.” She tells her. “Don’t get so worked up, Maggie. It’s okay. I’m not upset about that at all. I just want you to be happy when I’m gone.”

“I am happy right now.” She whispers softly, knowing if her voice goes even an octave louder, it’ll crack and she’ll be sobbing. 

“And you will continue to be if you keep close to those who make you happy and distance yourself from those who do not.”

“I’m going to miss you.” She whimpers, tears falling freely. 

“I know.” She pulls Maggie close and it’s a feeling she hasn’t felt since she was a little girl: safe in her mother’s arms. 

“Thank you for everything. I love you, mom”

She has her mother’s blessing to leave those who hurt her and her son because family _is_ more than blood. She has her mother right now. She has the love of her life. She has the best son who has _nothing_ wrong with him no matter what anyone tries to say. She has a daughter out there who can’t call her at the moment. She has five sons, one of which she would like to see as a son-in-law should the country evolve beyond its current state and with those sons, she had a few more family members she found in (most of) their parents. She has plenty of family and her sister need not be a part of that when the unfortunate time of her mother’s passing came.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

xXx

**February 1993**

Maggie, Went, and Richie, sad but put at ease by a beautiful service and a sense of closure, say goodbye to Linda and her kids at the funeral. Maggie knows she will never hear from them again and she’s okay with that. She has all she needs.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i retitle this fic: maggie been knew for just a day and see if anyone notices
> 
> the three people i tell about this fic can probably now see why i was getting so frustrated over this one bc it's a fuckin shit show. im sorry. Im going absolutely stir crazy and this chapter offers 0 to what is to come but idk i just felt like breaking a kids leg, decorating cookies, reinforcing the idea that you shouldn't hold onto family if it hurts you, and killing maggies mom. i am a talentless HACK. 
> 
> i am SORRY. 
> 
> also i was explaining this to someone and they thought it was weird and plz tell me they're wrong. my family RARELY spends Christmas at home but we still decorate the house inside and out even if we won't be there on the day of or we won't be doing exchanges in our own home? iT'S JUST A GOOD ASS VIBE TO HAVE OKAY. everyone thinks it's a waste of time but fuck u i wanna look at a plastic tree all year. >:(
> 
> Again!!! I don't know exactly when I'll be done posting before my hiatus is to begin but I'm still busting out chapters left and right until further notice! Whether that's a good thing or a nuisance, i do nOT CARE. yes i do. sorry. 
> 
> barry berkman should be renamed Barold Berkman
> 
> Richie has his new mask. He is so happy. Him and Eddie are walking their new dog every single day and are tweeting at people to stay the fuck inside. they had a dinner with the losers via zoom. It was an experience and a half.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back? Back again. Move has been incredibly stressful since we moved to a whole new ass state. I miss PA already to be quite frank but we'll get used to it... I hope? It's literally just been over 2 weeks and I'm pretty sure I already forget how to write and I hope it doesn't show that much???? 
> 
> Everyone is literally so kind that it physically pains me??? In a good way. Thank you for always being sweet noodles. I'm just paranoid constantly because I didn't write for 6-7 years and am just now trying to be regular with it which is why I update so quickly because I know if I don't, I'll fall off the spiral and stop doing it again and I don't wanna do that... so that's why the vocabulary is of that of a mediocre 12 year old and the spelling/grammar errors are definitely HIGH as fuck. but the word count is too (sometimes)... so maybe that makes up for it? I convince myself if I shit on myself no one else's criticism will bother me? Idk. If ya wanna roast my ass do it. 
> 
> Here is another boii I'm not sure I'm vibing with with the exception of a few sentences. Honestly, not being able to write for over 2 weeks has me stressed that I'm already regressing a lot and I'm not particularly confident in this one but I rarely am and I need to get over it and just post. Oooof. Ya'll are the sweetest and shoutout to my internet friends for being supportive asf during my move and keeping me sane: 06_blue_eyed_boys_28 and ItsyBitsyBatsySpider are A1s and have amazing works and you should hype them up. :)

Maggie knew Richie was jealous.

**July 1993**

Edward Kaspbrak got himself a new girlfriend. It was a fairly recent occurrence, having only just happened before school let out for the summer. It was objectively an ideal time for a relationship to spawn since the stress of junior year was officially behind them and a new couple could allow themselves to truly dedicate their time into getting to know one another and allow their budding romance to evolve under the glow of fireflies sparkling over a warm summer’s eve, to the sound of a crackling bonfire at a cookout, and the faint taste of watermelon on someone’s lips after a first kiss. Opportunity had knocked at Eddie’s doorstep in the form of Veronica “Ronnie” Carter and he had answered with a glee in his eyes that Maggie previously believed to be reserved for someone else that she knew far too well. Eddie was completely and utterly lovestruck. 

Maggie knew Ronnie just to the slightest extent before Eddie had started dating her. She had been a friend of Richie’s as the two of them were both in theater together. Previously, they didn’t really go out of their way to spend outside time together, but they’d gotten exceptionally closer this past spring as they were both cast as leads in the spring production of  _ Bye Bye Birdie.  _ The two were mushed together with their fellow leads and seemed to mingle well with each other despite their vastly differing personalities. Richie and Ronnie genuinely enjoyed each other’s company on and off the stage and because of this, the Losers were granted the pleasure of meeting and socializing with her after the production was complete and each of them were immediately attracted to her easy-going nature-- especially Eddie as it could be clearly seen. 

Eddie and Ronnie seemed to hit it off the night Richie introduced them. They fell fast and hard for one another and that was evident in the rather rapid progression of their relationship. There was nothing negative to be said about the two of them as a couple. Eddie deserved someone that loved him and Ronnie was a sincerely sweet person that seemed to look out for Eddie’s best interests. Maggie, however, could not help but notice in the brief encounters she’d had with the girl that Ronnie was everything that Richie  _ wasn’t  _ and if the dampened attitude her son was starting to exhibit was anything to go by, he had noticed this as well.

Ronnie had poker-straight blonde hair that went down to the middle of her back and often tucked it behind her unpierced ears. Her almond-shaped eyes were a hazel that edged closer to brown than green. Her fashion choices appeared to be composed of neutral tones and minimalistic patterns that were very unlike the loud colors and eye-sore designs that made up the majority of Richie’s closet. She was calm, collected, never one to speak out of turn, strategic in that she had expressed solidified interest in what she wanted to do herself once she graduated and moved on to attend some university in the midwest, and most obviously, unlike her son, Ronnie was a girl. 

Went has jokingly lamented this fact which Maggie immediately scolded him for. It was not appropriate to make jest or assumptions about a  _ child’s  _ sexuality. Even with his girlfriend, Maggie knew they shouldn’t make any concrete deductions. It wasn’t fair nor was it right. There was more out there than she knew of and had not yet fully educated herself on. 

“You did about Rich.” He had snorted after she berated him for spending an excessive amount of time complaining about the fact that Eddie was dating someone that  _ wasn’t _ their son. 

“Did not!” She argued. “I had mere speculations and rightfully requested that we stop making hetero-normative jokes about Richie’s future girlfriends.” 

He’d accepted that but continued to grumble over the loss of his desired son-in-law. Maggie knew it was all good fun but there was a glimmer of sincerity behind his complaints as he, like her, saw Eddie as part of their family and a relationship with Eddie seemed like the most obvious way to permanently rope him into the Tozier household. Sure, a portion of their savings was dedicated to pushing Eddie through sports and kick starting his college education which he required minimal financial aid for seeing as a full ride running scholarship was a guarantee and all of that alone was a clear sign that he was a legitimate member of their family but a love affair would truly tie the knot on securing Eddie as an official member of the Tozier family. 

Maggie was not proud of it, but she’d made similar observations about Eddie as she had with Richie throughout their childhood. Anytime the boy thought no one, specifically Richie was looking, he would longingly gaze upon him longer than most friends typically would and never hesitated to express the beauty he saw in Richie that Richie himself did not see even with the recent removal of his braces and the steady clearing of his once acne-ridden skin. There was a time where she was certain the two of them would stop being so unbelievably dense and confess requited feelings for one another but in a place like Derry such confessions were unsafe and now, it was just not possible.

Richie had his own feelings about the situation. That much was obvious for he wore his heart not on his sleeve but tattooed smack-center upon his forehead. He attempted to put up a neutral facade in regards to the situation but Maggie could sense the unhappiness that radiated off of him in aggressive waves. It was a jealousy fueled not by anger but insecurity, sadness, and general loss. He put on a brave face in the moments Eddie, accompanied by the lovely blonde, made time for him and the other Losers. Their dynamic had definitely changed as Richie had to neutralize the not-so-subtle flirtatious attitude he once reserved for the other boy. Richie believed he could no longer relentlessly tease his best friend to the same extent as he had prior to his new relationship status and had completely dropped all his various nicknames for the other boy as they were (to Richie) most obviously terms of romantic endearment whenever he applied such peculiar names to Eddie. 

Maggie hated to admit it but she could sense Richie and Eddie drifting apart-- not that Eddie was even aware of it. He did an immaculate job in balancing his blossoming relationship and well-established friendships. Sure, that still meant a great majority of his time was dedicated to time with Ronnie but that was to be expected when it came to someone’s very first romance. No they drifted apart in that Richie no longer allowed himself to feel so close to Eddie. Gone were the pinching of cheeks, the tickling of ribs, and the ruffle of perfectly-combed hair. He seemed convinced that he was not allowed to be so intimate with his best friend for he feared his feelings would become obvious and potentially cause trouble between him, Ronnie, and Eddie.

To Maggie, Richie’s feelings were clearly written across his freckled face but if Eddie had not noticed this after over a decade of friendship, Richie really had nothing to worry about. He was clearly protecting himself from the sorrow he obviously felt by pushing himself away as much as possible without going too far as that would positively raise a couple of brows. 

Maggie and Went were an (obvious) exception. They could sense from a continent away, standing on the tallest of mountains, with sight as pitiful as their son’s that Richie was pulling away in order to avoid the feelings that surely wreaked havoc on his heart and were unequivocally the reason he blasted Head Over Heels by  _ Tears for Fears  _ on repeat from the confines of his bedroom each and every night. 

She hated seeing this withdrawn Richie that felt like he couldn’t be himself around his friend anymore. Sure, it was probably a good thing he minimized his usual touchy tendencies as it could quite possibly rub Ronnie the wrong way lest she witness her son rubbing his nose into her boyfriend’s cheek and powdering his cheeks with eskimo kisses while calling him some goofy name. But Maggie wasn’t certain that it needed to be entirely eradicated but erasing it from his friendship seemed to be the only way he could handle the hurt that certain weighed upon him each time he saw Eddie gazing upon Ronnie in the way he never knew that Eddie used to do for him. 

Maggie made an attempt in getting Richie to open up about his feelings one afternoon while she was off of work and he was lazing around their living room with Eduardo the cat resting contently upon his chest, occasionally reaching forward to lick Richie’s still hairless chin with his sandpaper tongue. Normally, he might be out and about with the other Losers either at the quarry, the Clubhouse, or lounging by their pool. However, that was out of the question for the sky decided to open up in the form of a torrential downpour that was accompanied by loud claps of thunder that occasionally caused Richie to yelp whenever Eduardo would tense and dig his sharp claws into his skinny chest.

“How’s Eddie Spaghetti doing?” She asks him, laying across the couch and poking his sock-covered foot with a recently manicured nail causing his foot to twitch and his toes to curl involuntarily. 

He grunts before shrugging his shoulders on the loveseat, not meeting her eyes. Instead, he slides his long piano fingers through the cat’s soft fur. She is able to catch the faintest of flinches at the nickname he’s recently abandoned. “I dunno. He’s got cross country practice every morning and then usually hangs out with Ronnie downtown or at her place.” 

“She’s a sweet girl.” She says slowly.

“Yeah, I know that.” He mumbles. “ _ I  _ introduced them. They better let me make a speech at their wedding since I’m the reason this happened anyway.” A bitterness bleeds into his voice but she knows it’s with minimal venom for the only poison that she can see coming from her son is the glassiness of his magnified baby blues that can only be a result of tears from his own sorrow attempting to break the surface of his eyes. 

“Sweetie,” she sighs, “I understand that this is hard for you.”

“No it’s not.” He insists with little conviction. “I want Eddie to be happy and he is.”

“You’re allowed to be upset, Richie. I know how much you like hi--”

“That was a stupid middle school crush, mom.” He argues, quickly swiping at his cheeks in a feeble attempt to cover the tears that have successfully begun to roll down his angular cheeks. “I don’t… I don’t like Eddie that way anymore.”

“Honey if you do, it’s okay. It can take a while to ge--”

“Well it’s a good thing I don’t mom!” His voice cracks not unlike the way it used to when he was younger and in that moment she is mesmerized by how old yet how young her son seems to her. He is still her little boy despite being over six foot tall and too close to being a legal adult for her own personal comfort. He’s just as sensitive and controlled by the intensity of his own emotions as he was when he was small enough to be scooped up into her arms to cry softly into her collarbone. But, the hurt in his eyes and the tension starting to tighten in his shoulders is that of a grown man in genuine pain fomented by the throes of heartbreak. She wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and provide the comfort that can only ever come from a mother’s embrace-- something she herself desperately misses. 

“Richie,” she moves to him but elects to seat herself back down when he shifts away abruptly, eliciting an annoyed  _ mrow  _ from Eduardo. “It’s okay.”

“It was just a stupid kid crush. Nothing else, mom. Really.” He laughs in self-deprecation. “I’m over it and I’m happy that he's happy.” 

xXx

**October 1993**

There was no getting Richie to admit the sadness he clearly felt in regards to Eddie and Ronnie’s relationship. He was putting forth Eddie’s happiness before his own and while yes, not interfering with a relationship was something Maggie would never expect of him as he was too kind for that, she would prefer it if he were more open to  _ someone _ , like her or Went about how he was really feeling. It was not healthy of him to bottle up his emotions like this and it was a habit he always had and she had worked time and time again to eliminate such toxic behaviors but to no avail. 

Something peculiar Maggie had noticed was the fact that Ronnie did seem to show up at their house on a few occasions to see Richie without the accompaniment of Eddie or any other Loser. She would have thought it was due to relationship troubles and a need for a friend but that would have brought on bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks. Instead, her expression anytime Maggie opened the door to greet the girl was typically one of joy with a hint of uncertainty behind her eyes. Uncertainty for what? Maggie did not know. She was obviously welcome into her home and Richie would lead her upstairs where they would hang out for a few hours before she would thank Richie profusely with a gentle hug that was dissimilar to the strong bear hugs Richie always reserved for his closest friends. 

He always gave a half smile that never fully reached his eyes and insisted that it was “nothing,” but something told Maggie there was something behind these visits that seemed to grow in frequency. She had asked Richie about it once but he often changed the subject or blatantly lied as to what they discussed whilst up in his room. He seemed uncomfortable and an invisible weight visibly dropped upon him as his shoulders slumped heavily anytime she pressed the subject so she decided it was something that she shouldn’t investigate too heavily. It would come out into the open… eventually. 

As of now, with the summer having dwindled away and the kids officially in their senior year of high school (something Maggie had cried hysterically over), Richie had not seen much of Eddie in weeks. Sure, it could easily be attributed to the business that accompanied the start of the college application process and the final attempts at taking standardized tests, but Maggie knew this was not the case.

For starters, although Richie was clueless as to what he really wanted to pursue, his heart was set on attending a college in southern California which was fine by her and Went. They had been contemplating making the move out west ever since the summer of ‘89 in order to escape the bigoted nature of those in Derry and the overwhelming quickfire pace that made up the daily life of eastcoasters. Richie wanting to attend a university over there simply gave them a more  _ official _ reason for moving that was not a plain middle finger to this side of the country. They were already making slow and steady steps toward finalizing this inevitable relocation. In regards to the stress of standardized tests, there was absolutely no reason for Richie to spend hours studying or pay the fees in order to retake the SATs for he had gotten a near perfect score on his very first attempt. 

It was dreadfully disheartening to not see Eddie’s face in the Tozier home as much as she was used to in previous years. Maggie herself was starting to forget what the young boy’s rapidfire rambling and screeching laughter after Richie cracked a joke that Eddie would later insist was not  _ that  _ funny, sounded like. Sure, Richie still hung out with his other friends on a fairly regular basis, but anytime Eddie and Ronnie decided to join the group, Richie seemed to fabricate some lie as to why he had to come home early or would avoid the situation altogether by studying for an exam he was already set to pass with flying colors or help out at Went’s practice by cleaning-- something wildly uncharacteristic for her tornado of a son. Whatever possessed Richie (and Maggie knew what it was because to her, Richie was as predictable as booming thunder following a flash of lightning), was enough to cause a dramatic shift in his personality and served as encouragement to help out in a manner that he would normally whine incessantly about. 

She really did miss Eddie and not simply because of the joy he clearly brought to her son, but the attachment she and Went each felt for the boy that felt like their own. Richie’s friends gave him a spark, but there was a distinct glow that came about her son that could only be ignited with the company of his Eddie Spaghetti. However, with this self-imposed isolation from his friend, the Eddie-induced flame was steadily fizzling out. Eddie was once a near-constant presence in the Tozier household and now he was starting to feel like a distant memory for Richie clearly could not bear the sight of a boy he (still) loved with all of his too-big heart. Maggie frequently wondered if Eddie missed them as much as they did him or if he was potentially too invested in his relationship to truly care about the loss of his found family. She wanted to doubt it, she really did for she felt there was a special connection between her and the boy that was understated but certainly there. Luckily, Stan graced her with an answer that she needed to hear.

Stan and Richie, friends since what seemed like the dawn of time, were still just as close as they were as kids. Richie knew how to melt Stan’s serious expression into an involuntary smile and could always sense when he needed to dial it down and play the role of the comforting friend when the other boy seemed to be something less than happy, and whether Richie liked it or not, Stan seemed to be able to read him like an open book and knew when to  _ Beep Beep  _ Richie and when to allow the boy to indulge in his motormouth tendencies to ensure that Richie never saw a problem with simply being Richie.

Maggie knew everyone was going their separate paths once it was time to pack up and head off to some university, and while the thought pained her beyond belief to see Richie starting a life without any of his friends, she really could not imagine Richie’s life without Stan the Man at his side since he’d been there since the two of them were fresh out of diapers. She did however believe that the Losers would still work to maintain their relationships with one another well into adulthood. Friendships like the one within this particular group did not come often and the connections between everyone (even the absentee Beverly) were truly that of an unbreakable bond. 

“Thank you Mrs. T.” Stan says with a gentle smile as she slides the spiraly haired boy a cup of his favorite chamomile tea that she’s kept in stock since he developed a liking for the stuff. He’d rode home with Richie that day in order to “study” for a physics exam which actually meant keeping the textbook open on the Tozier kitchen table and occasionally trash talking their elderly teacher and munching away on the various snacks stockpiled in the pantry. Even with this method, the two boys were guaranteed an A-- especially Richie’s whose status as future valedictorian of the ‘94 graduating class had yet to shift even slightly. 

“No problem, sweetie.” She says kindly, grabbing a juice box for her own son that has tastes only a toddler could appreciate. 

“Thank you, mumsie.” Richie tells her around a mouth of sunflower seeds. 

“Big test tomorrow?” She asks, glancing down at a few untouched practice problems.

“Just a quiz.” Stan answers with a shrug. “Nothing major.”

“You’re smart boys. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“There was no question about that, mother.” Richie teases, a cocky grin on his face. 

“Of course not, baby.” She smiles, leaning against a counter, arms crossed over her chest. “So, anything exciting going on for you Stanny?”

“Not really, nope. I’m just waiting to get some scores back so I can send them to some schools in Georgia, Florida, and Alabama.”

“Your family is moving there after this year to be with your grandfather, right?” 

Stan nods, humming contentedly as he takes a sip from his tea. “Yeah but even if we weren’t, I think I’d still wanna go down there.”

“Guess you finally realized that you’d make it well with all the grandmas.” Richie snorts, puckering his lips at the boy.

“Get some new material, Trashmouth.” Stan scoffs, the corners of his mouth still quirking up in a smile at the jab. 

“Anything exciting happening for you guys?” 

“Not really.” Richie shrugs, going back to his apple juice. 

“Just Homecoming, but none of us are going.” Stan says. “Well except Eddie and Ronnie.”

“You boys should go! It’s your senior year!” She insists.

“That’s why we  _ shouldn’t  _ go, mom. It’s the same thing every single year. Same garbage music and same stuffy chaperones. At least at prom they let Mr. Wicowski be in charge of everything. He’s actually cool.” Mr. Wicowski was Richie’s AP Language teacher during his junior year and was the one teacher that knew how to handle Richie’s antics without being condescending and seemed to genuinely appreciate the (often too much) stuff that came out of his mouth. “We’ll go to prom. Don’t worry, you’ll get to see me look like the world’s gangliest penguin.”

“You looked adorable at junior prom.” She insists, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah Richard, you looked  _ adorable. _ ” Stan cackles. 

“Fuck off.” He grumbles.

“You said Eddie is going, right?” She questions, curiosity stirring in her chest. 

“Yeah,” Stan nods. “The rest of us are probably just going to hang out at the Clubhouse or something.” 

“I haven’t seen Eddie around in a while.” She observes aloud. “Do you all still see him much?”

“A decent amount.” Stan shrugs. 

“That’s good. I just miss seeing him around.”

“I know he said he missed coming over to see you guys but it’s kind of Richie’s fault.” Richie shoots him a nasty glare but Stan is unphased. “Richie won’t hang out with him and  _ always  _ ditches us the minute he shows up.”

She glances at Richie whose cheeks have gone faintly red and he is unable to avert his eyes from his juice. She feels relieved that there is a confirmation that Eddie does still think of them and is not so completely and utterly wrapped up in his romance that he’s forgotten his other family. He deserves to indulge this relationship and enjoy it to the most of his heart’s desire but she does find herself feeling comforted in that their existence is still in the back of the boy’s mind. However, the fact that Richie’s distancing is actually hurting Eddie is something she does not condone. 

“Richie, you can’t just do that.” Maggie sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I think I want to study for physics, now.” He mutters, pulling the book toward him.

“Richie.” Her voice is stern. “You can’t just cut Eddie off like that.”

“Yeah, I’m with your mom on this one.” Stan chimes in, poking Richie in the ribs. “You know it’s really not fair to him and it’s not good for you either.”

Maggie cocks her head suddenly as she takes in Stan’s knowing expression. “Oh, wait does Stan k--”

“MOM, SHUT UP.” Richie shouts, throwing a single sunflower seed at her and missing entirely. Luckily it falls in the sink and she doesn’t have to pick anything up or berate him to do so later. 

“Oh no, Mrs. T.” Stan laughs meekly. “He didn’t tell me he liked Eddie. I already knew.”

“Wait what?” Richie demands, completely baffled. “How did you--- when did you--  _ HOW? _ ”

“Dude, you’re kind of obvious about it.” Maggie cannot really argue that one. “I’ve known since like junior high.” He knew her son, but clearly not as well as she did.

“But you didn’t know I was gay until like last year.” He argues.

“Yeah even  _ before  _ I knew that, I could tell that you had a crush on Eddie. You’re not very subtle about it Mr. I Fucked Your Mom.”

“Does anyone else…” Richie stammers, fear clearly written across his features.

“No, definitely not. Everyone is too dense to realize,  _ especially  _ Eddie.”

“Well that doesn’t matter anyway.” he huffs out. “I don’t like him like that now.”

“Okay, so then start hanging around him again.” Stan challenges.

Richie grunts.

“Richie, I understand this is frustrating to you and you’re upset bu--”

“No I’m not!” He nearly shouts. “Can you stop bothering me about this? Maybe I just don’t like her!”

“Then why do you let her come over all the time?” She demands.

Stan whips his head toward Richie, eyes narrowed. Maggie realizes she probably should not have broadcasted such information. 

“It’s  _ nothing _ .” He looks at Stan, hands up in defense. “I swear. I would  _ never _ do anything to sabotage Eddie.”

“I didn’t think you would, Rich. I’m just surprised you’ll hang out with Eddie’s girlfriend, but not him when he’s literally cried to all of us about how much he misses you.”

Richie’s shoulders fall in shame. “I know,” he sighs. “I’ll work on it.”

xXx

**December 1993**

Richie does end up rekindling his relationship with Eddie. He does still hold back his typical mannerisms and refuses to let himself feel as close to Eddie as he once did for the hurt he was feeling is most indisputably still there. He no longer ditches the Losers in order to avoid confronting the emotions that arise whenever Eddie is present. The revival of their previous friendship has allowed Eddie to return to regularly visiting the Toziers, although he is still not aware that his own girlfriend has made multiple visits to their home at varying hours for things that were most certainly not related to the winter theater production. Maggie still did not know  _ why  _ she kept coming over but she decided this was something Richie would disclose when he was ready to. She didn’t care too much really because Eddie was back and was there for their usual Christmas dinner together.

Last year’s Christmas had been incredibly hard with her mother’s ill health and they were unable to spend it with Eddie as they had grown accustomed to in the last several years. Seeing as this was the last Christmas before everybody would be scattered across the country for their own future plans, Maggie was thankful that nothing had come up in order to thwart what should be a picture perfect Christmas. 

Initially, she could sense tension between her two boys as they had their own gift exchange in their living room. Their typical, playful banter and genuine fondness for one another in the form of casual hugs and teasing words was nowhere to be found in their strained smiles and nonexistent touches. Their gifts, while nice, lack the same thoughtfulness and the “ _ I thought of you when I saw/made this”  _ quality about them that they used to possess in years prior. Richie gave Eddie a simple athletic lined backpack for his track gear and the various workout clothes and new spikes that Maggie and Went had gotten him. Eddie got Richie several packs of wildly printed fuzzy socks and a pair of fluorescent green earmuffs because he was tired of seeing Richie failing to dress appropriately for the Maine weather even if Richie was not planning on encountering any more brutal winters after this one.

Normally, there would be a little more thought into their gifts but perhaps the distance between the two from earlier in the year had left a permanent dent in their relationship and both boys honestly did not know each other as well as they once did. Maggie and Went can sense the shift in their dynamic and are briefly concerned about how this dinner is going to go but in a blink of an eye, they seem to fall back into their typical antics with their playful teasing and uncontrollable laughter as they indulge in the feast Went and her had spent hours preparing. 

“So I’m assuming you’re still cheating your way through everything if they still think  _ you’re  _ going to be valedictorian.” Eddie snorts. 

“I know it’s hard for a simpleton like yourself to truly appreciate my natural genius but I can assure you that you will not be disappointed in my speech.”

“And why’s that?”

“Well I have to thank the people that mean the most to me, you know.” Eddie’s face falls into something soft and a blush burns across his nose. Went nudges Maggie’s foot with his own and she simply kicks him. “I mean I wouldn’t have retained any sanity if it wasn’t for the help of my nightly sessions with your mom.”

“You asshole!” Eddie shouts, reaching across the table to smack Richie in the head with his unused spoon. Maggie notices they had about two spoons for each table setting but she can’t pretend that she truthfully knows what the one being used to beat her son’s brains in is  _ actually  _ used for. Maybe Eddie is onto something here. 

Richie bats his hands away, cackling maniacally. “You really expected differently?”

“Well, yeah! You haven’t made that joke in a while. I thought you were  _ finally  _ growing up. I was clearly wrong.” Eddie huffs, dropping back into his seat. He coughs weakly into his hand. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, don’t be.” Went snickers. “It’s not child abuse when  _ you  _ do it. It’s probably something he deserves.”

“Dad! You’re supposed to be on my side!” Richie exclaims.

“Well, you set yourself up for that one, sweetie.” Maggie cannot help but allow a giggle to pass her lips. 

“Et tu, mi madre?” Richie says, clutching his chest. 

“That’s not even the same language, dumbass.” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Okay, well madre sounds more like Brute and if you had  _ any  _ appreciation for comedy you would see how witty that variation was, but you are an uncultured swine, Eddie.” 

“You’re a fucking nightmare.” Eddie scoffs. “I know you both did your best, but he is a walking disaster.”

Maggie shakes her head laughing. “How is everything with Ronnie, Eddie Spaghetti?” She had already asked Richie if it was okay to bring her up in order to make small talk with Eddie at the table and he had seemed legitimately okay with the notion. 

Eddie seems to preen at the nickname he has not heard from the conjurer’s lips in ages. “Everything is going really well. We’ve been together for a little over six months now and she and I actually had our own little Christmas together, yesterday.”

“That’s awesome, sweetheart.” She smiles. “What did she get you?”

“Oh wow,” he laughs, eyes sparkling with joy. “She really did great. I-I didn’t even tell her I wanted to go to NYU because I haven’t found out if they’re willing to offer me a full ride or not yet and that’s the only way I can afford to go but it’s been my dream school and she got me a bunch of NYU stuff which was just really cool and she also,” Eddie snorts as he laughs, “She must have noticed that I used to wear that silly fannypack all the time so she actually got me a new one with my name embroidered onto it. I’ll probably never wear it in public but it really meant a lot to me. She’s always been so great with gifts like on anniversaries and my birthdays… she just  _ really  _ gets me.”

“What about the mixtape?” Richie asks, spooning some sweet potatoes into his mouth. 

“Oh it was great. I didn’t even know she knew I liked all tho-- wait how did you know she got me a mixtape?” Eddie inquires, completely bewildered. Something rouses in the back of Maggie’s brain as she processes this and stares at her son who looks suspiciously like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

“You mentioned it earlier.” Richie answers easily. Eddie most certainly did not. 

“I did?” He seems perturbed, cocking his head slightly as Richie bites down on his lip, anxiety evident in his eyes. “Yeah, I must have.” He laughs feebly. Maggie shoots Richie a look and he simply shakes his head once and she knows to not press the matter further. 

“Gonna tie the knot, are ya Eddie?” Richie laughs, a joke that is definitely not designed to upset Eddie and only serves to fuel his own self-deprecating tendencies. 

“Dude, we’re only seventeen.” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“I mean you’re together more than most wedded couples are.” Richie says with a shrug.

Eddie narrows his eyes as he too can see the faint bitterness behind Richie’s words. 

“Richie, don’t be rude.” Went scolds. 

“What? I’m just stating facts.” He huffs.

“Do you have a problem with Ronnie? Because newsflash,  _ you’re  _ the one who introduced us.”

“And where are my thanks?” Richie says with a roll of his eyes.

“Okay, seriously, what is your deal?”

“ _ Nothing. _ ” Richie spits back.

“No, I’m not letting you do this dismissive bullshit, again. I’m tired of it.” Eddie stands up. “I’m sorry Mrs. and Mr. Tozier, but can we um please talk elsewhere?”

“No, Eddie. Sit down!” Richie snaps. “It’s not a big fucking deal.”

“No! I’m not okay with you holding shit back from me and then making passive aggressive comments like that. It’s rude and you’re not even giving me a  _ reason  _ as to why you’re acting like this.”

“Of course, boys.” Maggie urges, her heart sinking as the scene unfolds before her. Eddie leaves his napkin draped over his chair and makes a quick exit. Richie doesn’t move to budge.

“Richard, go.” Went commands. “You brought this on yourself.”

“Jesus.” He groans, stomping off to follow his friend; he is very not keen on the idea of confronting the plethora of issues that have been simmering for far too long between him and his (once) best friend. 

“Well, I guess that’s two for two in fighting over Christmas dinners.” Went attempts. 

Maggie sighs, rubbing her temples with her fingers as she hears the front door slam shut as they go outside to potentially disturb the heavenly peace that typically encompasses the snow blanketed neighborhood for the entirety of Christmas day. Her suspicions are complete as it is obvious the two do not realize how loud they’re being for her and Went can each make out each word bellowed by both boys from their front yard.

She has a feeling that much like last year, they will most likely  _ not  _ finish this Christmas dinner as a family so she gets up and seats herself in the living room, sliding her snow boots on lest she need to run out and stop the boys from uttering something they may regret too much. Went follows suit and lays across the couch with her, weaving his fingers through her curls, cringing at the aggressive tones that used to be reserved for bullies and less-than-pleasant adults bleeding into Eddie and Richie’s voices. 

“You’ve been pushing me away ever since I started dating Ronnie for no fucking reason and now you’re just being a jerk.” Eddie yells, infuriated. 

“You’re overreacting, Eddie.” Richie snaps back. “I was just kidding.  _ That’s  _ what I do.” 

“No, you  _ used  _ to joke around with me and now you act like I have some fucking disease and none of your jokes are funny anymore. They’re fucking mean.”

“I literally just said you spend a lot of time with her! That should be a fucking compliment on your  _ successful _ relationship.” He might not mean to, but his tone is extremely condescending. 

“Like that! You’re belittling me!”

“No I’m fucking not!” 

“Yes you fucking are, Richie!”

Went cringes as Eddie’s voice raises into a full-blown screech that is certainly rawing his throat out in the subzero temperatures. “Should we get them?” He asks.

Maggie shakes her head. “Not yet, no. They need to do this.”

“Well if one of the neighbors files a noise complaint I’m not being held accountable.” He sighs.

“You treat me like shit and up until recently you fucking avoided me without giving me any goddamn reason. I tried talking to you in the hall all the time and you would just go the other way like you fucking hated me!”

“I don’t hate you.” Richie responds, the fight evaporating from his voice.

“Then why are you acting like you do? It’s bullshit, Richie.” He groans and Maggie can picture him pulling at his perfectly combed hair in frustration. He huffs out a deep breath and pauses for a moment. “Is it because you’re jealous?”

“Excuse me?” Richie laughs in exasperation, bordering upon hysteria.

Eddie sighs. “I get it. You two were friends way before I came into the picture. Just… Richie, are you jealous of me for dating Ronnie?”

“Oh are you fucking kidding me? That’s rich.”

“It’s okay if you are!” Eddie insists. “You just need to tell me and be honest with me, Richie. I don’t want you being jealous of me to ruin our friendshi--”

“I’m not jealous of  _ you!  _ I’m jealous of fucking Ronnie!” He cries into the night. Maggie feels her heart drop and Went mumbles a string of swears.

“What?” Eddie asks, his voice breaking. “What do you mean, Richie?”

“Just forget it, okay?” He’s clearly choking on sobs and there’s a sound of skin on skin indicating that Richie has slapped away Eddie’s comforting touch. 

“No. I’m not letting you push me away, Richie!” Eddie cries. “I-I know I’m with her a lot but I do try to make time for all of you guys but you… you always pushed me away. You were my best friend, Richie and you just threw me away.”

“I guess we  _ were _ best friends.” Richie sighs. “It’s whatever, okay? Just dro-- don’t touch me. You don’t want to.”

“What does that even mean? You’re not giving me anything to work with here, Richie.”

“Just drop it, okay. Let’s just inside and finish dinner.”

“No. You can’t get away with stuff like this.” Maggie agrees with Eddie. “I  _ am  _ your best friend and you don’t get to push me away like I don’t mean any--”

“That’s the problem, Eddie. You mean  _ everything  _ to me, okay? Just let it go!”

“NO! I’m not pretending that everything is okay anymore.”

“I’ll stop being a jerk, okay? I’m sorry for being rude. I won’t do it again.”

“That’s  _ not  _ enough. You’re pushing me away when this is our last fucking year together before college.”

“I told you before I’d come see you at NYU.”

“I only told you about NYU.” Eddie realizes. “Ronnie had no idea because I was too scared to tell anyone because I’m still not sure if they’re going to give me an offer.”

“They will.” He says, clearly trying to change the subject.

“I never told you about the mixtape, either. Richie, why would yo--”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s...I’m… why?”

“Can we just stop.”

“No. What does all of this mean?”

“It means you probably forget the things you tell people, Eddie.”

“You stopped calling me Eds.”

“You hated it, anyway.”

“You never cared before.”

“Okay, well maybe I do now.” Richie defends. “Just stop looking so deep into this, okay? It’s for the best.”

“Richie, please talk to me. You used to tell me everything.”

“Well people change, Eddie.” Richie groans. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” 

“I can’t do this, Richie. You’re putting all these walls up and it’s like… it’s like I don’t even know you anymore. You’re really hurting me here, Richie.”

“Well I don’t know what to tell you, Eddie.”

“Tell me why you’re treating me like this, Richie. I deserve to know.”

“I think you should go home.” 

“What?” 

“I-I can’t, Eddie.” Richie stammers. “DON’T TOUCH ME.” Skin on skin again. The sound of feet slipping. Richie has pushed Eddie into the snow out of anger spawned from the internalized homophobia that despite their best efforts, still tears him apart on the daily. 

“What the hell, Richie!? I’m trying to be a  _ good  _ friend.”

“Well maybe I don’t want you to be anymore!” He wants more but that is a secret he feels like he  _ has  _ to keep. She wants to intervene. She knows these are words he could regret eternally but she can’t. 

“What?” Eddie sniffles. “But Richie, I--”

“Go home, Eddie.” Richie says. “GO HOME.” Richie yells, a whimper caught in the back of his throat. 

“But I want to fi--”

“GO HOME.”

“Fuck you Richie Tozier.” Eddie yells back. “ _ Fuck you. _ ” 

He must have left on the spot, abandoning the gifts they’d given him for when Richie reenters the house, he is alone and breaks down into his own fit of body wracking sobs as he slams the door shut and sprints up to his room. They each move to talk to their son and force him to try to fix this situation but Maggie and Went are rooted to the spot as their son’s cries ricochet off of his bedroom walls, for once, not muffled by a radio that is not currently blasting the sounds of sad boys singing sad songs.

xXx

**April 1994**

Richie and Eddie had since made up from their blowup. They simply could not stay mad at each other. However, their make up session was not one that seemed satisfactory to Maggie. It was awkward and they elected to just ignore all the problems that had caused such anguish between the two of them. Things were visibly tense between the two boys and they never seemed to meet one another’s eyes for more than seconds at a time before quickly glancing away as if they looked at each other for just a second longer, they might turn to stone. To Maggie, it seemed they really only made up for they knew their time was rapidly ebbing away with senior year approaching its end and not in an attempt to address the issues that undoubtedly still served as a wedge between the two. 

Besides the awkward tension that followed the boys like a baby duck to their mother, a lot of other things had changed dramatically for Richie and his friends. Each of them had been accepted into some of their top universities and were set to attend in the fall or summer in Ben and Bill’s case. Ben decided he wanted to pursue a double major in architecture and business so partaking in a summer session at the University of Nebraska was the best way to go about that in that it would spread out the workload he would be subject to. Bill would be packing his bags in early July and participating in a month long writer’s workshop in Boston which made his college plans an easier transition as he was set to attend Boston College at the of the summer. 

Mike was still to remain in Derry for the foreseeable future in order to maintain the farm and care for his grandfather. Maggie wished different circumstances for the boy and hoped that one day, in the near future, he would be able to escape this wretched town and explore Florida as he had expressed wanting to do so in the past. Stan himself was moving down South in August to be with his own grandfather and to pursue a business-related major at the University of Georgia. She genuinely believed the south, despite the prejudice that seemed as natural there as it did in Derry, would be good for Stan. He still fell into his dark moods that he’d had since he was a child and the constant sunshine and the heapings of vitamin D he would certainly be dosed with, with the help of the sun’s rays would be most beneficial to his mental well-being.

NYU had offered Eddie a full-ride athletic scholarship to be one of their “Violets.” Sure, their track program was not as large as some schools that had desperately wanted Eddie, but NYU had a multitude of academic programs that seemed to pique the boy’s interests and was a place he felt he truly belonged so he committed there unbeknownst to his mother. She did inevitably find out and was insistent that he not “abandon” her and that he needed to quit track due to his “weak lungs.” He, having grown into a brave young man, denied her requests and allowed her to weep giant crocodile tears as she could not stop him from going to a school that would cost him absolutely nothing and to continue pursuing his love for running. Maggie was confident that Eddie would do phenomnal things once he settled himself in the Big Apple.

Richie, although a shoo in for any school he applied to, struggled in deciding where he wanted to go. Despite his obvious intelligence, he mindlessly applied to a multitude of California-based schools because he was convinced that he would be rejected by almost all of them. As she and everyone else had expected, he got into every single one of them and each school went as far to offer him various academic scholarships and grants. It took a long time for him to finalize on a decision but luckily, he did not wait until the deadline which was just a month away and decided that his aspirations could most easily be achieved at UCLA and he decided that he wanted to major in Communications which she personally did not believe would be best suited to him but he could easily change his major if need be. 

He insisted he would not need to because he was convinced he needed to pursue a legitimate job and not a “hobby.” Maggie had a feeling he would change his mind after one semester. Richie was bright but she knew he would be better off doing something he  _ loved  _ and not just something he could pass through in order to fall into a job he didn’t even want.

Maggie and Went were thrilled by his decision as it made their plans to move down to southern California even more official. Went and her were conducting their own research and they weren’t sure if they themselves would be fully established in the state by the time Richie’s classes started in September, but they could easily send him off to school and be sure to leave a room available for him for breaks whenever they finally got moved in. It was something they were positive would be fully done by October at the latest as Went needed to find a place to re-establish a new practice and they also needed to find a home that would suit their changing needs because as much as it pained Maggie to admit it (and had been the reason for her crying whilst flipping through old photo albums), Richie would be ready to leave their nest sooner than later.

She truly could not believe how fast these kids had grown up before her eyes and it was something that she was forced to process as Richie had started drafting his valedictorian speech and preparing for his final musical of  _ Grease,  _ whom he was (to no one’s surprise) cast as Danny. She knew he was excited to play this particular role but there was a certain sadness as the role reminded him of a past Halloween with a certain redhead. 

It was still a sore topic for all of the Losers and it probably would be until they (hopefully) heard back from her one day. The idea seemed more like an unattainable dream as they approached graduation and were set to sprinkle themselves across the country and no longer be where she’d left her boys. It was a possibility, nevertheless Maggie knew and hoped. Technology was always advancing and it was increasingly easier to find someone-- although no matter what she did, she could never track down Bev or her Aunt. It was as if there was some block that prevented her or anyone from locating the girl. 

Maggie was distraught over Richie’s rapid development into adulthood, especially now that he was a legal adult. His birthday had been a simple affair held in the Tozier living room and consisted of all of the Losers featuring Ronnie and of course, her and Went. He did not want anything extravagant as he decided  _ not _ to save his birthday tears for his 40th and instead was a hysterical mess the minute all of his friends left. He was mortified by the loss of security that came with being recognized by a child by the rest of the world. Maggie attempted to assuage his fears as she knew well enough that no eighteen year old was  _ really  _ an adult having been in the same position herself. He disregarded her attempts at comfort and simply stuck to convincing himself that he was doomed to a life of taxes and jury duty.

She had to mask her own sadness in front of the boy because like Richie, she too was not happy with his status as an adult even though she knew he wasn’t as adult as the government had deemed him. He would always be her baby, but having him deemed as an official “man,” was something no mother necessarily looked forward to unless their child was a creature of nightmares then they were thrilled to have the legality to kick them to the curb. If Maggie had possessed any Sonia-like qualities, she would probably do the opposite of that and hold her son close till the day she died but despite feeling sorrow watching him approach a life of independence, she was also incredibly proud of the man he was shaping out to be. The older he got, the more Maggie realized she and Went had done a more than adequate job in raising their boy. 

The only shortcoming that seemed to come with Richie was his unabating stubbornness. This was reflected in the aforementioned state of his and Eddie’s now awkward friendship. It seemed as if the crack in their relationship was irreparable and once college did roll around, they would separate on terms that no one would have expected out of the two boys that used to giggle on the playground as they blew dandelion fluff in each other’s faces despite Sonia Kaspbrak’s insistence that the fuzz would trigger Eddie’s nonexistent allergies. Watching them struggle to be who they once were with one another was greatly dismaying and Maggie was starting to come to terms with the possibility that there really was no restoring what once was.

But something better could always happen and Maggie came to realize that as April flew by with an unexpected pace, leaving the seniors ailed with severe cases of senioritis and a plethora of emotions for what lay ahead. 

As per usual, April brought an abundance of rain showers and Maggie was always one to enjoy the smell of rain (something Went and Richie believed to be a load of bullshit because  _ ‘rain can’t smell’ _ ) after one of these downpours. Because of this totally real scent, she often slept with her window cracked open to let the aroma filter through their bedroom and for the cool after breeze to chill their room as opposed to jacking their electricity bill up by using the AC. She had settled herself into bed later than normal having had a case of crazy legs that she induced upon herself after deciding she could handle a caffeinated beverage after nine o’clock. She could have definitely handled that in her twenties or early thirties, but now, as an official forty-year-old, anything that was not water or a lavender tea was simply out of the question at nightfall. 

She was just about to snuggle herself into Went’s sleeping form when she heard it. The sound of a rock hitting a window. 

“What the--” she mumbles, about to remove herself from bed when she hears the familiar squeak of a window from a certain unstealthy boy’s bedroom sliding open-. 

“Eddie?” He stage-whispers into the night. 

Her heart freezes in her chest and for a moment she wants to order both boys to go to bed but the nosy side that comes natural when one becomes a parent takes over and she sits silently, staring intently at the window as if it gives her some enhanced capacity to hear the situation unfold. 

“I need to talk to you.” Eddie says.

“At one in the morning?” Richie asks. 

“Yes. Please come down here. I don’t want to wake your mom up.” 

Can’t wake up those who were never sleeping, Maggie thinks to herself as she quietly slips out of bed, taking a wider step over a portion of the floor she knows to be creaky and slumping underneath the window. A part of her knows this is an invasion of her son’s privacy, but sue her. She gives too many fucks about these dense ass boys to  _ not  _ know why Eddie, goodie-two-shoed Eddie would come to their house, requesting the presence of her son at this ungodly hour.

She hears the sound of her son’s pisspoor attempt in tiptoing across their hallway and down the steps. He is careful in shutting the door without making much of a noise.

“What’s going on, Eddie?” He asks. She can distinctly hear the sound of skin rubbing on skin. He must have forgotten to grab a robe or a blanket and is already growing chilled in the night. Idiot, Maggie thinks to herself.

“Idiot.” Eddie grumbles, the sound of a jacket being shifted off loud in the night that was once silent. 

“Thanks.” Richie snorts, obviously draping on Eddie’s coat. “Not that I… not that I don’t appreciate you being here or dislike seeing you,  _ why _ are you here.”

“Ronnie and I broke up, tonight or well I guess yesterday night.” He must have realized it is past midnight. Maggie is shocked to hear such news as she knows the two had a healthy relationship and there really seemed to be no flaw there.

“Oh my God, Eddie… I am so so sorry.” 

“Hey, don’t be.” Eddie laughs. “It was a mutual thing.”

“But why? You guys love each other.”

“I don’t think we did. Not really. I really did like her and I enjoyed being with her but I know I wasn’t willing to maintain the relationship once I went to NYU and she went off to Purdue. She knew she wasn’t either. We’ll stay friends, yeah, but it just wasn’t worth the effort of long distance, you know.”

“I guess.” Richie responds. “I still am sorry, it has to be hard.”

“Actually, it wasn’t. I’ve done a lot harder things.”

“Yeah like fighting a space cl--”

“No, like almost losing you, Richie.” Eddie interrupts. 

“What?” Richie is stunned. “You can’t get rid of me, Kaspbrak. I’ve told you before, I’m like a fungus. I grow on you and then you can never get rid of me.”

“Hilarious.” He deadpans. “No, but I almost did lose you and you’re the best… you’re the best person I have in my life, Rich. You really are.”

“I mean your mom is pretty fantastic but I suppose you’re a close se--”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole.” Eddie bites halfheartedly. “I’m trying to talk to you.” He sighs. “Ronnie told me everything.”

“What?” There’s actual fear in his voice. Did Richie come out to Ronnie? 

“The gifts, Richie. All the amazing presents she gave me on my birthday, our anniversaries, on Christmas, and for Valentines Day were actually from you.”

“No they weren’t.”

“Okay, maybe you didn’t buy them but  _ you _ gave her the ideas. You’re the one who told her my favorite foods, my favorite songs, and everything about me that only  _ you  _ know.”

It all makes sense to Maggie in that moment. Ronnie knew Richie was closer to Eddie than anyone else in this world and who else would she turn to when it came to surprising her boyfriend? 

“Okay, yeah but she came to me.” Richie says. “I didn’t mean to interfere.”

“Richie, you didn’t.” Eddie laughs sporadically. “You doing that was really sweet… but why?”

Richie’s voice is small, “She wanted to make you happy and I knew those things would do just that.” 

“They did.” He agrees. 

“Why would she tell you that?” Richie suddenly asks.

“Because Richie, she made me realize a few things and yeah being with her was great but no one makes me as happy as you do, Rich. No one ever has and probably never will.”

“Aw Eds, you really know how to make a girl blush.”

“I’m being serious, Richie.” He sighs. “Ronnie said you care about me a lot and she did too but she said she knows no one cares for me as much as you do even if you were pushing me away.” Eddie snorts. “I told her she needed to major in psychology at Purdue” 

“Okay, Eds. What are you getting at?” Richie’s tone is growing shrill with anxiety.

“Why were you jealous of Ronnie?” 

“W-what?”

“You told me on Christmas that you were jealous of  _ Ronnie. _ ” Eddie presses.

“Eddie, I was just mad at you, okay.”

“Richie, I know that wasn't it, okay? I know you’re scared and I want you to know that i--”

“Fucking stop, Eddie.” Richie chokes. “Please.”

“No.” Eddie states. “I care about you more than anyone else in this world Richie. You have no idea how badly you hurt me last semester when you wouldn’t even look me in the eye. You used to tell me everything or at least I thought you were and then you cut me out and I lost the one person that really valued my happiness more than anyone else I know. I know everything is changing but I don’t want us to change, Richie but I--.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“Let me fucking finish, dipshit. I don’t want us to change but I realized there are some things I want to change and it is because of something I didn’t realize I felt for so long and now that I look back on it I realize it’s always been there and Richie it’s always been y--”

Silence. For a second Maggie is concerned but then: “Oh, wow” Eddie gasps. 

“I-I’m sorry.” Richie says. “I sho--”

Another silence. Longer than the first. 

“That was…” Richie starts to say.

“Long overdue?” Eddie whispers. 

“I was going to say better than you--” 

“Don’t.” Eddie growls. 

“Well you know how to shut me up, now.” Richie teases, sounding short of breath. 

“Was that wh--”

“Yeah.” Richie answers. “It was. I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

“We just _ … _ did  _ that  _ for a solid thirty seconds and you’re asking me if I’m mad?”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“No. I’m not mad, Richie.” The inflection in his voice makes her sense that his face is broken out into a smile he’s not flashed her son in quite a while. 

“But Derr--”

“Will be behind us soon.” Eddie tells him. “I want this but if you do--”

“I’ve always wanted this, Eds.” He admits. “I’m sorry for never telling you. I just thought…”

“What?”

“I can’t, okay? Please don’t make me. Not yet.”

“Okay.” Eddie reassures. “It’s okay. Hey don’t cry, Rich.”

“ ‘M not crying.”

“Of course you’re not.” Eddie says, indulging her son. God Went would shit himself if he’d gotten the chance to hear this. 

“You know… you’re the most important person in my life too, right?”

“I do. You… you have made that clear with everything you’ve ever done for me, Rich.” Silence again. “I care about you so much.”

“I care about you too.” He says back. 

“I-I have to go but I’m glad we--”

“I am too. Are you sure you have to leave?”

“Yeah. But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Will you um… do you want me to pretend this didn’t happen?”

“Do you?” Eddie sounds hurt.

“ _ No! _ ” Richie shouts. “Never.”

“I don’t either. Night, Richie.”

“Night Eds.”

Richie is starting to walk back up their porch steps when Eddie calls for him again.

“Yeah?”

“I just want you to know that um… if you’d want… long distance is worth it to me… if it’s with you.”

“It’s worth it to me too.”

“Awesome. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

xXx

**May 1994**

Prom was something the Losers had been looking forward to going to together all year. Each of them had elected to go stag with the exception of Bill who had Mike as a “date” just so he could accompany them to prom as he always did for the homeschooled boy since Bev was no longer there to play such a role and of course, Richie and Eddie who had continued to keep their relationship a secret from their friends for the time being. Maggie was sure she and Went were the only ones fully aware of their current status-- not that the two boys knew. Went did, as she initially expected, nearly shit himself with excitement when she divulged all the details of what she could recollect from her spot under the open window that fateful night. 

Maggie would not be surprised, however, if the Losers were not steadily catching on as to what Richie and Eddie were now. Richie and Eddie gazed at each other with absolute beguilement when they first set eyes upon each other in their well-fitted prom tuxedos-- so unlike the awkward fit that each of them possessed during their first dance together at their eighth grade formal. They stood closer than ever during the photos they took outside the Tozier residence and could not take their eyes off one another. If that wasn’t enough, Eddie had done a piss poor job at concealing what Maggie knew was a bruise of a love bite upon the exposed skin of his neck. If they were aware, which it was certain that Stan was if his playful eye rolling was anything to go by, they knew enough to respect their boundaries and not make it known that they knew.

Maggie would have trusted the boys to all drive together to the event, but knew it was a better bet to drop them off and pick them up later that night. She knew well enough that under the eye of Richie’s favorite teacher, Wicowski, the punch would certainly be spiked with enough alcohol to put down a morbidly obese elephant and while she typically trusted the boys, she would rather be safe than sorry. 

She and Went take the responsibility of piling up the well-dressed bo--  _ young men  _ into their van and dropping them off just outside the venue of their prom, one of their final high school milestones. She feels a sense of deja vu as she snaps enough pictures to thoroughly irritate her son before waving them off toward the dance.

“We’ll see you at 11:30!” Went calls to them.

“Sounds good!” Ben shouts back, beaming excitedly. 

Everything feels so familiar yet so different from the time she left them for their formal. Obviously there is a missing person but they’re all just as close and while they are now approaching adulthood, they are still the same group of boys with a friendship that is absolutely eternal. She does notice one thing that is significantly different from the time she watched the boys walk away to their middle school dance. Eddie is not holding Richie’s sleeve in what could have been an attempt to keep pace with the other boys or was Eddie’s way of nervously showing his affection for Richie. No. 

Eddie and Richie are very clearly holding each others’ hands with their fingers perfectly woven together because they do love each other and this fact, Maggie is certain. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Richie was a modern day teen he would cry in his room to Heather by Conan Gray at the start of this chapter 
> 
> I hope this was okay after my hiatus! Idk how updates are gonna go down from here on out just because I'm still in the throes of getting my life organized seeing as a lot has to change in my real life right now and idk I'm incredibly fearful of this getting progressively more juvenile in terms of writing style. I think this chapter is definitely reflective of that but HEY I BEEN STRESS. I needed a break tho and writing was helpful-ish
> 
> also im pretty sure bill hader is my biological father bc he is the only person ive ever seen with a forehead as huge as mine so like i guess someone needs to alert him that he doesn't have 3 daughters, but 4. 
> 
> Please comment for that dopamine rush and to create the illusion of social interaction and to roast my thicccccc booty. i am dummy thicccc emphasis on dummy.
> 
> not that it matters much, but I decided to go in and edit the chapter titles just slightly into varying parts!!!   
> Part I: Pre-It Ch. 1 Content  
> Part II: It Related Content  
> Part III: Post It Ch. 1 Content/High school   
> Part IV: Out of Derry/ Adult Richie Content  
> Part V: CH. 2 Content  
> Part VI: Post It Ch. 2 Content  
> this is subject to change! I just know this is shaping to be medium-big sized boiii and it makes it easier to organize and if I forget a major part of something I can personally go back and find random tidbits that I can incorporate into latter chapters...i feel like i'll be the only one to know the parallels between went and maggie vs. eddie and richie but hey it makes ME laugh and self indulgence? aw yis. 
> 
> Continue staying safe out there and keep distancing! :)
> 
> Richie and Eddie are seeing people go in to the world again. Richie wants to. Eddie screams at him about the dangers of it bc it could lead to another spike in the pandemic.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Am here with a chapter am nervous about! I don't know if this one really flows well but I hope it still fulfills the purpose of making the story interesting!
> 
> BIG BIG BIG BIG TRIGGER WARNING HERE: Discussion of hate crimes and physical assault committed against someone for their sexuality. Please do not read if that triggers you. I am basing this off experience as a bystander NOT someone who has experienced this type of assault. I am coming from a place as someone who has been a victim of assault but not in this particular context regarding sexuality. 
> 
> I will not be writing about the experience from the victim's POV, but as someone else's perspective to the aftermath of it. I know that can be just as triggering and I will be putting bolded asterisks (***) around where this starts and ends if you wish to skip those parts alone because I do think the end of this chapter is mildly essential as the ending is a major plot point or at least I think it is. I really cannot tell if I know how to execute a plot still? 
> 
> I am not making light of it or trying to make it entertaining in the slightest. I am including it as it is solely realistic because the 90s were not exactly a time of acceptance (and sadly this is still happening today), I want to bring more attention to the parallels of Don/Adrian and Richie/Eddie in Ch. 2 (WHICH THERE ARE SO FUCKING MANY THE MEG RYAN POSTER BEHIND RICHIE IN THE ARCADE? BRO) but I did a reverse take on it which you might see shall you read that bit, and because I think this type of trauma would be a reason enough for someone to disregard/repress their sexuality for something that is solely not just a result of clown-induced trauma. 
> 
> I hope that this is okay and if you're not comfortable reading it, your feelings are totally valid and I have much love for you. 
> 
> I hope this chapter is enjoyable nevertheless because we have some fluff in the beginning!

Maggie knew it was time to leave Derry.

**June 1994**

While not being particularly open about their new romance in that Richie’s loud mouth had yet to proclaim his love and affections for his favorite hypochondriac on top of the highest of mountains, it was obvious that Richie and Eddie weren’t making much of an effort in concealing their love for one another anymore. Richie would slip his hand into Eddie’s anytime they were walking around town insisting that Eddie’s short legs, although significantly more powerful and muscled than Richie’s rather wobbly and skinny ones, could  _ never  _ keep up with his long strides so they just  _ had  _ to hold hands. As Richie would stand around a shop or in the comforts of the Tozier home, Eddie would walk up from behind Richie and wrap his arms around his middle and push his forehead into the back of his neck and mumble halfhearted insults about her son being too tall, too bony, or just insist that he smelled like he had showered in greywater—whatever the hell that was. They snuck kisses just about everywhere: After Richie’s final musical, during Eddie’s last track meets, and of course just whenever one of them felt like they needed the other’s attention just a little longer. 

Maggie would use the term “snuck” loosely for the two of them were often oblivious to how many people could see them but as of yet, no one had voiced their (unnecessary) discontent about their love for one another. She hoped it would stay that way but a fear she wished she didn’t have, twitched in her chest each time he left the house with the intent of meeting up with the other boy. However, she was happy that they seemed more comfortable in expressing their love for one another through their gentle touches and words of adoration that made Maggie reminisce about her late college days when she would wait for Went to pick her up from her dorm and would spend hours listening to his jokes and melting into his warm body when he’d drape his gangly arm over her shoulder. She could truly foresee a future where Eddie and Richie stayed just as in love as she was with her husband. 

It would be difficult. She knew that. Went knew that. And if the random episodes of Richie and Eddie crying on their living room couch was evidence, the two boys knew that. They were going to be on opposite ends of the country for at least four years before they could plan a life together as adults with a love that would only grow stronger as the lines in their faces got deeper and their hair became thinner. It would require a substantial amount of effort on both of their parts, but based on what Maggie had seen in the two, what with their plans to write letters, to make weekly phone calls, and to try to visit each other for holidays—it was something they could manage. But until then, they had now and now they would love each other face to face, hand in hand, and occasionally mouth to mouth.

High school came to a quick end and with that end, and with that end came a plethora of “Lasts” that made Maggie cry each time Richie completed one. He had his last school musical which had her blubbering at his first lines and sobbing after curtain call. His last exams which he certainly would not miss but she found herself weepy about as he excitedly showed her an unsurprising A marked upon a test packet. His last sack lunch that she packed tearfully the night before —never would she ever expect to cry whilst putting together a ham and cheese sandwich until she realized this would be the last time she would be doing that for him.

It all seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. It honestly felt like just yesterday she was sniffling outside of the elementary school after escorting him to Ms. Harris’s class. Now here he was, done with high school, hours away from his graduation, and just months away from moving into his freshman year dorm at UCLA. It certainly was not an easy road but it was one he’d travelled with determination and many successes that he definitely undermined but never failed to mesmerize her and Went. 

The ceremony was to take place outside later in the afternoon, which Maggie was not particularly excited for seeing as a heat wave had settled across Derry and was absolutely relentless with its boiling temperatures and excruciating humidity. She already knew it would be horribly long and it wasn’t like she could dip early for the comfort of some A/C seeing as her son’s name would not be called till the very end along with Stan’s. It would be worth it, however. She was incredibly proud of not only her son, but all of his friends and she was ready to celebrate (and cry over) their accomplishments.

In true Richie fashion, he sleeps in as long as possible. He would have slept longer, and perhaps through his own cue to give his valedictorian speech (which Maggie knows has his anxiety through the roof) and through the entire ceremony itself had she not crept into his room to get his lazy ass out of bed. 

He’s stripped to his bottoms, having discarded his Derry Theater Club shirt at some point during the night—most likely in a barely conscious fit of sweat at some peculiar hour of the night. Eduardo is resting on the opposite side of her son, his tail occasionally swishing in his sleep, causing Richie’s foot to twitch anytime his fur tickles his soles. His face is smushed rather comically into his pillow, distorting the shape of his eyes and nose. He’s sprawled out like a starfish with his feet hanging over the edge of his double-sized bed. She noticed that happening back when he was going through the peak of his growth spurt. She’d felt bad about it at the time seeing as it could not be comfortable for him. However, he declined the past offer of upgrading his bed as that meant he would have to rearrange all of the posters and pictures he had plastered upon the walls which admittedly fit around his full-sized headboard quite immaculately and rather tastefully. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” She whispers, poking him in the cheek with the tip of her nail.

He grumbles, turning his head away.

“You need to get up, Richie.” She snorts. “You have to get ready and get something to eat.”

“No.” He growls. “Just get ‘ploma in the mail.”

She rolls her eyes at that. “Up.” She commands, jabbing a finger into his exposed side which immediately has him scrambling upward, bleary eyed. Eduardo, unhappy with the commotion, leaps off the bed and toward the steps. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” He groans, blindly grabbing for his glasses and shoving them on. 

“Up. Eddie is coming over early for pictures and brunch. Get dressed and let  _ me  _ put your cap on your head. You’ll go up there looking like a little mop if you try to do it.” She teases, ruffling his tangled curls with her fingers which he bats away with an unwilling chuckle. She sniffs for a second. “But first, please take a shower.” 

“Rude.” He gasps, dramatically placing his hand to his chest, but removes himself from his bed anyway. He side-steps around her and toward the bathroom and just before he shuts the door he announces, “I can’t find my cap. I don’t know how big of a problem that will be.” 

Before she can express her stress upon hearing such words, he already has the door bolted shut and shower on full blast. 

“Goddammit, Richard.” She moans, running into his disaster of a room. She’s never been one to rifle through his stuff as she did have some respect for his privacy; of course with the exception of her frequent eavesdropping. But could it really be considered as such when her son’s loud voice carried through their thin walls like no other and he decided to have such revealing conversations with his friends just a room away, fully aware that she and Went were obviously in the other room. 

Now, however, his privacy is not of concern. She just needs to find the universally unflattering graduation cap that does zero favors for anyone with a forehead that is larger than the width of their pinky finger. She shoves clothes, a mix of clean and dirty around in order to look for the stupid thing. He has his gown, dress shirt and pants, and shoes set out nicely on his desk chair, but of course he’s decided to wait till the very last minute to mention that he’s missing one of the key elements to a graduation get-up. 

“Jesus Christ, Richie.” She grumbles, sifting through his drawers. “Seriously?” She huffs as she finds a mason jar half filled with the remnants of his weed stash. 

“What’s going on?” Went asks, standing in the doorway already dressed for the ceremony. If she wasn’t under stress she’d be all over him since it’s a rare moment where he’s not dressed in decade old t-shirts or smelling too strongly of the mint toothpaste he uses on all of his patients who realize that cookie dough definitely does not taste as sweet as one would have thought. Why that was even an option was beyond Maggie. He did however, encourage his technicians to use that flavor on clients that he wasn’t necessarily fond of (i.e., Sonia Kaspbrak and Mr. Keene). 

“Richie lost his cap.” Maggie groans. “I’ve looked through everything I’m willing to put my hands on in this room.” He cocks an eyebrow. “He’s a teenage boy. I’m not going through all of his drawers. I want to hold onto the idea that my son is still my sweet, innocent baby boy but of course he has this shit.” She mutters, holding up the jar.

“You already know he’s smoked before.” Went laughs, waggling his eyebrows. “I mean we could always have our own party.” 

She elects to ignore his comment. “Well I just thought he was just a freeloader like I was in college and never kept the stuff in his own room!” She defends. “Dumbass.” 

Went cackles, squatting next to her. “It’ll be fine. You’re just stressed because of everything going on today.”

“Hmmph.” She drops her head against his chest and because he’s smart he takes that as his signal to start rubbing her neck. 

“Everything is fine. We know where we’re going. Richie is going to give a phenomenal speech. He will hopefully not trip over his own two feet on stage. We’re going to have a nice party for Richie and his friends afterward. And the cap? I’m sure it’ll turn up or they’ll have some extras at the ceremony. I mean can they really trust a bunch of seventeen and eighteen year olds to be responsible for an ugly hat for more than a week? Of course not. They’re going to be prepared.” 

She giggles feebly at that. “I know. You’re too good at this. You’re a doctor of the wrong thing.” She teases, poking him in the forehead. “Should’ve been a psychologist.” 

“Maybe I’ll join Richie in college and try again.” He snickers. “We could be roomies!” 

“Oh he’d absolutely  _ adore  _ that.” She laughs, easing herself off of her son’s mess of a floor, shoving the weed jar back in his dresser. “He’s too big now.” She pouts.

“I knew that was gonna come sooner or later.” He says, wrapping his arms around her. “He’s our  _ big  _ baby. He always will be. I mean with his level of maturity, we can  _ always _ feel like we’re still raising an elementary school kid that drops the f-bomb every other sentence.”

“He’s not even dressed yet and I’m already crying.” She scoffs, as she brushes her fingers under her mascara-coated lashes. Luckily it is waterproof but even she knows that formula can only handle so much and she will certainly be putting it to the test as the day progresses. 

“Can we move this show of emotion out of my room?” Richie asks from the doorway, holding a towel around his waist. 

“Did you put that conditioner in your hair that I told you to?” She questions, already knowing the answer.

“No.” He mumbles. 

“Get back in there and use  _ that. _ ” She commands. He opens his mouth to argue. “Nope. Use it. I will never get that cap to go over your hair if you don’t.”

He throws his head back with a groan before stomping back to the bathroom.

“See!” Went beams. “It  _ is _ like having an elementary schooler!”

Maggie shakes her head, laughing under her breath. “I should get lunch done for the boys. Eddie will probably be here  _ before  _ our little shithead gets out of the shower.” 

“Stop talking about how much of an ass our son is. He just got with Eddie. Let’s not ruin that.” Went scolds.

“Eddie already knows what an ass our son is.” Maggie giggles. “I knew  _ you  _ were an ass and I still married you. There’s always hope.” 

“You really know how to hit me where it hurts.” Went winces before replacing his expression with a kind smile. “I’m going to go pick up the graduation cakes.”

“Cakes?”

“Yeah. I don’t trust six boys to not knock one over so I bought two.” He explains. 

“I love you.” Maggie smiles, heading into the kitchen to make something for her young men to eat. “Before you leave, make sure they spelled all of their names right!” 

“You got it Mageline!” He blows a rather theatrical kiss her way before hopping out the door. 

She decides to go for a light tossed salad seeing as getting Richie to eat even that will be a feat in itself seeing as his nerves are definitely shot at the prospect of giving a speech in front of his entire graduating class, parents, and all of his teachers in a few short hours. Plus, she and all the other parents of Richie’s friends (with the exception of Sonia who blatantly refused to go to the graduation out of fear for the potential germs flying about and because she is still extremely bitter about the fact that her son is not backing down from attending NYU) have prepared an abundance of classic cookout treats for them to all enjoy after the ceremony so there truly is no reason to make anything too extravagant right now. 

Richie comes down just as she’s ready to dish out some of the salad. His hair smells strongly of the conditioner she uses on her own hair to tame her curls. It already looks a lot less wild and frizzy than it normally does when he first gets out of the shower. He looks quite dapper in his white dress shirt and tie that Went will have to correct when he comes home. 

She contemplates this for a second before saying, “I think you should change your shirt until it’s time to leave.”

“Why?” He asks, grabbing a juice box and aggressively stabbing a straw in it. It splashes slightly but miraculously misses the crisp white button-down.

“Because of shit like that.” She groans. “You breathe and get stains on your shirts, sweetie.” 

“So? Everyone is only gonna see my collar anyway.” He shrugs, sitting down.

He has a point but she’d rather him change but she knows this is a battle she will not win with him. “Alright but at least be a little more careful than you normally are.”

“So do the bare minimum?” 

“Exactly.” She snorts. She leaves him for a minute to grab a comb and some styling gel from the half bath. “Eat.” She commands as she sets the supplies down and starts pulling the comb through his locks.

“Do you have to do this now?” He groans.

“Yes, because you decided to sleep in and we don’t have a lot of time. Eat.”

“I’m going to throw up on stage if I do.” He grumbles, but serves himself a small serving of greens anyway. 

“No you won’t. You never did during theater.” She says, pulling apart a knot that has already tangled itself around the nape of his neck as gently as possibly.

“Motherfuc— ‘cause I enjoyed that. I’m not exactly thrilled to give a speech about my shitty high school experience to a bunch of assholes. Hi everyone, I’m Trashmouth and I might be Eddie’s mom deep in the closet, but I’m smarter than all of you. Sayonara, motherfuckers.” He snorts at his own joke. “I think I’m going to change my spee—”

“No.” She deadpans, being less kind with the current chunk of hair she’s on. He yipes loudly before going back to shoveling some lettuce into his mouth. 

There’s a knock on the door and she knows who it has to be. “Come in!” She calls. 

Eddie Kaspbrak walks into the kitchen carrying a cap that he quickly uses to smack Richie in the face with, causing his glasses to slide down his nose a margin. “You left this at the Clubhouse, asshole. I had to get like seven bugs out of it but I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more bugs in your hair anyway.” He then places it on the kitchen counter and begins to give himself some salad. “Hi Mrs. Tozier.”

“Ow!” Richie whines. “Nice to see you too, Dumpling.”

“Oh thank God.” Maggie laughs in relief. “Thank you so much, sweetheart.”

“No problem. Thanks for lunch.” He grins excitedly. “So you excited for your speech, Mr. Smartypants?”

“If you mean I feel like my stomach is gonna fall out of my ass, then yeah. Positively thrilled.” Richie lets out another yelp as Maggie starts twisting his curls around her finger to make them lay a little nicer. She remembers Bev doing the same thing with his hair which is truly how she learned how to get a handle on her son’s hair. “I made some revisions with my mom just a minute ago. Wanna hear it?”

“Richard, no.” Maggie chides. “You don’t, love.”

“I bet I don’t. It’s probably about my mom or something gross.”

“Only like a portion!” Richie defends. 

“That’s still too much, fuck head.”

“Golly, you sure make my heart sing, Spaghetti.” Richie says in his best Southern Belle accent, fanning himself with his hand.

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he can’t contain the smile that appears on his face. “Idiot. I hope you sound like Bill the whole time you’re up there.”

“R-r-rude.”

“Hey, that’s mean.” Maggie tells them, as she starts gelling up her hands.

“Oh God, mom. I don’t want to look like a fuckin’ greaser.” 

“You won’t! This is going to tame the frizz since it’s going to be humid out. I’m not even using that much.”

“Stay Gold Ponyboy.” Richie chokes out, slumping against the chair, closing his eyes and allowing his tongue to hang out over the side of his mouth. 

Eddie uses this opportunity to quickly steal Richie’s juice box and take a hearty sip. 

“Hold your head still, Richard.” Maggie instructs, forcing him to sit right back up as Went walks in carrying two cakes. “Hi sweetheart. All the names correct?”

“Yup. We’ve got Bennifer, Billiam, Eduardo the cat, Micycle, Staniel, and Dick Toaster.” 

“Jackass.” Maggie giggles, parting Richie’s hair the way that best suits his face and will be most forgiving against the weird satin-y material of his cap. 

“I’m calling you that now.” Eddie informs Richie. 

“Alright SpaghEdward.” 

“Oh, I like that one.” Went chortles, grabbing himself a water bottle from the fridge. “It’s a warm one out there, kids.” 

“Seriously, is the cake alright?” She questions, her own motherly anxiety getting the best of her.

“Yup. Made with the best peanut butter icing on the market.”

“Went! Richie can’t ha—”

“Honey, it’s allergy friendly buttercream. Relax before you accidentally scalp our son.”

“Thank you!” Richie sighs in relief as Maggie eases up the hold she has on his hair. 

“You two excited?” Went asks, sitting across from Eddie and Richie. 

Eddie nods. “Kinda. I’m excited for it to be officially over but I know I’m going to miss everyone as they all leave this summer.”

“You kids have a little bit of time together.” Maggie reassures him. “Make the most of it and just be sure to stay in touch.”

“Yeah, we’re definitely planning to.” Eddie says eagerly, grabbing his and Richie’s dishes and placing them in the sink.

“I’ll take care of that when we come back.” Went tells Eddie. “You get your gown on so we can get some pictures because...” he takes a glance at his watch, “if we want to find a decent parking place we outta leave soon.”

“Alright. Mines in the living room. I’ll get Richie’s for him too.”

“Upstairs.” Richie tells him.

“I know.” Eddie calls back, leaving the Toziers alone in the kitchen.

“Alright, I think you look pretty good. Went?”

“Looks great.” He agrees, barely taking a look at his son’s hair. Richie could have birds woven into his locks and Went would be content. 

“Tell me if you hate it,” Maggie says, pointing him toward the bathroom. “Not that it’ll matter because you’re wearing your cap anyway.” Richie nods, getting up to inspect his hair.

“Oh, we found it?” 

“Eddie did. He left it at the Clubhouse.”

“So you were worried over absolutely nothing? Wow, that’s a first.”

“You really want to sleep on the couch tonight, huh?” She laughs, rinsing the hair product from her hands.

“It could be worse.” Richie decides as he walks back into the kitchen at the same time as Eddie enters with his gown on, Richie’s draped over his arm. 

“You look good.” Eddie tells him, handing his gown toward him. 

“You should check yourself out first, Father Eds.” Richie teases, making the sign of the cross in what Maggie knows is the wrong way to make it. 

“Okay, I want a few pictures of the two of you  _ without  _ these stupid things on your heads, okay?” Maggie tells them as Richie and Eddie each zip up their gowns. “Richie get your dress shoes on.”

“Yes, mother goose.” He calls back as he and Eddie head outside. 

Maggie grabs her camera and checks her own hair and makeup before sliding on her wedges and heading out with Went who has graciously taken the task of holding her purse. They step outside where Eddie is meticulously attempting to straighten Richie’s honor cords on the lawn.

“It’s fine, Eds.” Richie insists.

“You had them around your neck like a fucking noose.” Eddie scolds, flicking him in the forehead. Richie gives him a quick peck on the forehead to which Eddie seems to calm at. He finishes straightening Richie’s before shifting his own just slightly. 

“Alright, smile you goobers.” She starts snapping a few pictures of them. 

Richie makes a kissy face at Eddie and Eddie cackles, smacking his face away which Maggie is pleased to have captured. “Alright, caps on. No, not like that Eddie.” She waves him over. “You need some of your hair to peak out so you don’t look like a bunch of bald babies up there.” She takes her time in shifting the caps around both boys' heads until they each look as decent as anyone can look in them. They definitely are not the most appealing accessory but as she sees the two fully clad in their ceremonial attire, tears burn her eyes.

“Oh mom, not now.” Richie laughs. 

“Your fault for getting all big on me.” She sniffs, pinching his cheek which doesn’t have near the amount of give it had when he was younger. She turns to Eddie. “You too. I miss lil’ Eddie with his dorky fanny pack.”

Eddie giggles at that, giving her a hug. He’s the only one that is just  _ barely  _ taller than her and not absolutely towering over her as her son and husband do. “I’m still the same Loser now.” He says.

“Of course you are.” She agrees, wiping at her cheeks. “Now smile and we can all leave.”

“Eddie and I are going in my truck.” Richie says through his teeth, wrapping a noodly arm over Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Alright. Don’t speed.”

“Yeah, we want a graduation not a funeral.” Went adds which makes him a victim of Maggie’s sharp glare to which he holds his hands out in defense. “Be safe, boys.”

“Alright and don’t think I won’t be all over you and your friends with the camera after the ceremony.” Maggie informs them.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, mom.” Richie rolls his eyes, a smirk twisting his mouth upward. “I’ll see you on the other side” He says with a limp handed salute. 

“Bye Mr and Mrs. T!” Eddie waves, climbing into the passenger side of Richie’s truck. 

“Will he still call us that when we’re in-laws?” Went asks in a hushed voice as he opens the door for Maggie to get in. 

“Shush.” 

xXx

Maggie is seated next to Went who holds her hand despite the sweaty discomfort it causes the both of them. Her other hand is being used to fan herself with the program given to them upon arrival in a futile attempt against the unbearable humidity that has left the back of her sundress absolutely soaked with sweat. Next to her is the Denbroughs, the Urises, the Hanscoms, and of course Mike Hanlon who despite not getting a legitimate graduation as a homeschooled kid, wanted to be there for his fellows Losers and was to also be included in their post ceremony festivities as he had finished all his schooling on his own time back in April. 

Parents continue to fill in the seats when finally a man she recognizes to be the head principal welcomes the parents and family to the ceremony and the class of 1994 which prompts the school band, significantly smaller now that the seniors are no longer members, to begin the first notes of Pomp and Circumstance. This cues the seniors to make their way to their seats just in front of the stage. Parents shout and whistle loudly once they catch a glimpse of who they believe to be their child. It is difficult to tell who is whom even with the alphabetical ordering of the paired students seeing as everyone is just a sea of red (boys) and white (girls). 

Richie isn’t hard to miss seeing as he, along with the female salutatorian and male class president, walk up the steps of the stage instead of taking chairs within the crowd and seat themselves close to the gowned faculty. She claps loudly, giving him a loud “woo” while Went does the strange finger-whistle that he once tried to teach her how to do but yielded in no success and just saliva-covered fingers. Richie throws up his hand in a quick wave just as he sits down. Maggie quickly notices a slight change in his appearance in comparison to how he looked when they first left the house.

“That little shit.” She whispers to Went.

“What?” He asks, confused. She points to his shoes which are no longer the black oxfords she’d gotten him but are instead a pair of brown leather sandals over top of banana printed socks that Eddie got him for his 18th birthday. “Oh Jesus.” Went snorts as one of the adults takes the stand and begins commending the children for their various successes and other standard high school graduation bullshit which Maggie quickly tunes out in favor of making fruitless attempts in cooling her and Went off with a lukewarm water bottle in her purse and the wrinkled program. 

As most high school graduations, the time seems to “drag like balls across a mile of glass” as Went once crudely said. It wasn’t her favorite simile, but it was certainly appropriate for how she felt sitting in the humidity, surrounded by families—some of whom had yet to learn about the wonders of deodorant. Finally, after the salutatorian delivered a rather refined but excessively long speech and the class vice president gave his rather self-absorbed and dull speech that fixated mostly on his accomplishments as a second string quarterback, it was her son’s turn. He was visibly sweating and Maggie could already see that the sun was hellbent on giving him a horrendous grad cap burnline. 

As he stepped in front of the podium, all of his Losers, despite what they were most definitely instructed  _ not  _ to do during rehearsals, screamed Richie’s name at the top of their lungs along with a few nicknames. 

He giggled slightly from behind his hand, melting away the anxiety that had been rather clear on his face since he first dragged himself out of bed that afternoon. 

“Hello parents, teachers who’ve managed to put up with me for four years, and my fellow graduates. I am Richie Tozier and I know I’m supposed to be following my approved speech I submitted to the guidance office last week but honestly, I want to make all of you like me so I’m going to make this short and sweet because my original is probably as interesting as the yellow pages and honestly, I know I’m dying of heat stroke in this stupid shower curtain and I’m sure the rest of you are as well.” Most of the crowd erupts in laughter with a few cheers from parents who truly want to get this show on the road as well. Some of the teachers cannot contain their own snickers at the boy, while some of the other staff do seem rather offended by Richie’s greeting—not that Richie gives a fuck anyway. 

Maggie is thankful that Went has taken the liberty to record the entire thing because she can barely focus on what he is saying as she has already succumbed to tears. She hears a lot of laughter throughout her son’s speech which is truly unsurprising since Richie, despite not being the most popular at Derry High, has always known how to work a crowd with his gift of incessant talking. Eventually she does tune back in as he makes his final words.

“I just really want to thank all of my teachers for having patience with me and for not believing I was as dumb as I looked— because I mean,” he gestures toward himself, “Clearly I’m not. If I was, we’d all be in trouble. I’d also like to thank the Losers Club for being my best friends and putting up with me these last twelve years. I can’t wait to annoy you all in the future, some more.” A wink in a direction that Maggie knows is where all the K last names are seated. “And, uh lastly, I want to thank my parents more than anyone. Dad, you were always like a father to me and mom you treated me as if I was your own son.” He chuckles slightly along with the crowd. “ But honestly, you both mean the world to me and I don’t think I could have done anything remotely adequate without your guidance. Thank you for always supporting me when I felt like no one ever would and for believing in me when not even I did. I love you both more than anything.” 

Went wipes at his own eyes. “My son is an idiot.” He mumbles and Maggie just gives a wet laugh as Richie says a few more closing words in regards to his graduating class.

“I guess here’s to the class of 1994 and to what the hell is ahead of us.” He gives a shrug and seems mildly startled by the applause that audibly lasts longer than the ones given for the previous speakers. The principal whispers something into Richie’s ear (probably a reprimand if anything), before patting him on the shoulder and waving Richie and the other two students to their assigned seats among their fellow students. 

“I will now introduce you to our 1994 graduating class.” The man announces as he begins to read off a list of names, definitely butchering a few of the pronunciations if the expressions of some of the kids is anything to go by. For the most part, Maggie zones out through the other students, giving a half assed courteous clap for each student but only really tuning in when one of the Losers is called 

“William Denbrough.” Zack and Sharon stand and cheer loudly as their son accepts his diploma, smiling modestly as he descends down the stairs with practiced balance. Maggie and Went are sure to give their own shouts as well. 

“Benjamin Hanscom.” Arlene, a quiet woman, gives a soft whistle which Maggie and Went easily compensate for with their own hoots and hollers. 

“Edward Kaspbrak.” Went yells loudly, grasping Eddie’s attention from the stage, giggling as he accepts his diploma and waving at the Toziers as he makes his way down the steps.

“Richard Tozier.” Maggie, already aware that her mascara is wrecked by her incessant crying, gives a gentle sob as he accepts his diploma. She quickly recovers with a loud shout for her son as Went whistles loudly and claps his hands over his head, unaware or perhaps simply not caring about the visible sweat stains under his arms. 

“Stanley Uris.” Donald and Andrea cheer loudly for their son and Andrea turns to hug Maggie tightly as her son accepts his diploma. Their boys did it. 

Maggie seats herself down and pokes Mike in the knee, getting his attention. 

“And of course, Michael Hanlon.” She whispers as some of the remaining kids make their way across the stage. Mike chuckles at that and Went gives a low whistle, patting the boy on the back. 

“Thanks Mrs. T.” He grins. 

“Of course, honey.” 

Finally, the students are told to move their tassels to the left and are announced to be official graduates to which all the students toss their sweaty caps into the air. Everyone bursts into applause for a multitude of reasons: their joy over their children’s success and the fact that the ceremony is finally over and they can all get the hell home. 

But of course, Maggie is not going to let her boys do that just yet. She and the other mothers corral them in front of the stage, along with Mike who wears a stray cap a student must have neglected to pick up after tossing. They force several cameras in their faces, demanding various poses of the boys. It doesn’t take long for them to get irritated and demand that they hurry up and go to the Toziers for their grad party. 

Maggie laughs. “Alright. We’ll see you all in about an hour or so, yes?”

They nod, already removing their sweat soaked gowns from their bodies. 

“I don’t know if I can make it.” Richie says, pushing his hair out of his face which has surprisingly held in the heat. 

“Very funny.” Maggie huffs. “Also, I don’t approve of your shoe change.” She informs him as they make their way to the parking lot. 

“I told him not to.” Eddie interjects. 

“These are way better for my flat ass feet.” Richie insists. 

“I liked it.” Went says, elbowing Richie in the ribs. 

“Thanks.” Richie snorts. 

“I’m surprised they let you graduate after that speech.” Eddie laughs, leaning into Richie’s side which signals her son to wrap his arm around Eddie’s waist. 

“I doubt they want to keep me around any longer.” Richie says. 

“Couldn’t imagine why.” Maggie teases. “Okay, you two come straight home and please take a quick shower an—”

“Kinky.” Richie says.

“Richie, no.” Eddie barely manages to control his own chuckles, thunking him in the head with his own cap in a fashion that is all too familiar to a framed photo Went keeps in his office that features her and Went from their college graduation. For a moment Maggie feels the air leave her chest as her heart skips a beat for the silliness and the love these two obviously share for one another.

“Take  _ separate _ showers and then if you can help us set up outside, that would be much appreciated.”

“You got it.” Richie agrees, giving her a thumbs up and then leaves, pulling Eddie toward his truck. 

xXx

Maggie, Went, Eddie, and Richie manage to set up their own food and get out the extra patio furniture to accommodate the other parents that plan to attend the celebration. It’s not long before everyone begins to show up and the boys are quick to ditch their parents and strip down to their swim trunks and start ruthlessly dunking each other as if they were thirteen year olds again as opposed to being high school graduates. 

They each enjoy the delicacies provided not only by the Toziers but by the other parents and of course force their sons into even more pictures around the pool and in front of the second graduation cake that Went thoughtfully purchased. Richie had dropped the other one whilst they were attempting to set up. Eventually, after congratulating all of the boys and celebrating their accomplishment which the six of them seem rather disinterested in, they part ways and the parents enjoy some hard iced tea on the porch while the boys soak in the pool, talking about whatever ruminative thoughts come across their young minds. 

They are truly engrossed in each other’s presence and Maggie cannot help but feel absolutely blessed that her son managed to surround himself with such a loyal group of friends. They’ve made it through so much together and she could not imagine him getting through everything that he did without them by his side. There are friendships that are special but more often than not, the friends one makes are fair weathered and lack anything substantial. They will be there when convenient and will care when it is required. For the most part, most people rarely make more than one everlasting friendship and here her son is, surrounded by five friends that will be a part of his life for what she assumes to be forever. A link is missing, yes, but that can always be mended shall things fall in their favor as their lives move forward.

But then, history repeats itself and this belief Maggie had as she observed these boys thoroughly enjoying each others’ presence devolves into a mere pipedream as one by one, the boys begin to leave Derry for their own futures and it becomes a likely possibility that this party is the last time they will be united as the Losers who were always supposed to stick together.

xXx

Ben leaves first. His summer session begins at the end of the month so he and his mother have to get themselves settled before classes start. He bids his farewells to his friends, promising to call (just as Bev had) once he gets settled into their new rental home. Unfortunately, they never do hear from him after that.

Bill leaves for his summer writing seminar in Boston about a week after Ben leaves. His parents are also moving to Massachusetts for they know they cannot inhabit their home and the memories surrounding it without the presence of their only living son. Bill promises to write to them and to send pictures of the city. Nothing.

Stan’s family finishes packing for their move to Georgia just a week before the fourth. Stan holds a sobbing Richie in his arms for nearly twenty minutes, a few silent tears also streaming down his face as he gets ready to leave his first real friend. He thanks Maggie and Went for everything and tells Richie he’s proud of him while giving a gentle nod toward a weepy Eddie and promises to be in contact as soon as possible. Silence.

xXx

**July 1994**

Only Eddie, Richie, and Mike are left and the three of them are struggling to bear the weight that accompanies what feels like sheer abandonment from their friends. Richie is emotional and often succumbs to episodes of hysterical sobs where he mourns his lost friends. Eddie is silent and contemplative, not quite sure how to process everything, Mike is bewildered and while Maggie wishes to see him around more before their own move, anytime he is not on the farm, he is engaged in a quest of sorts a to find a supposed “root cause” as to why their friends are not reaching out.

Went says it’s denial and to let him cope with it accordingly. He will soon realize there is most likely no tangible reason as to why  _ all  _ of their friends have not shown any signs in fulfilling their promises to stay in touch. Maggie is not certain of this. It seems too other worldly for  _ each _ of these friends to have broken their oath to stay together but she herself cannot pinpoint why they are being met with radio silence.

It is not something she can focus on, however. They’re currently working on their own move across the country. Went has officially sold his Derry practice for a rather significant amount and now has a shared practice location secured in Glendale—only a twenty-something minute drive away from UCLA. Richie is required to live on campus for his first year which will be easier for him anyway since Maggie and Went aren’t sure their move will be complete until October seeing as their house hunt was not going particularly well. They’ve found a few that have piqued their interests but some are just too big for a couple with a son that will be leaving the nest in a few years or they’re met with houses in desperate need of some upgrades and tedious repairs.

Sonia Kaspbrak was also moving out of Derry and into her sister’s home in New Jersey, just thirty minutes outside of the city. She would not be hovering over her son seeing as she refused to set foot in the “bacteria ridden hellhole” that was the Big Apple. But, she believed she would be close enough lest her Eddie-bear need something from her which he hopefully would not as Went had taken a portion of his profits from selling Tozier Dentistry and slipped Eddie a check to cash in once he moved to the city to use in any manner he might potentially need. He’d attempted to reject the amount, but the Toziers would not budge and he had collapsed into Maggie’s arms, crying joyfully at their generosity. 

It was something Maggie knew he deserved and would perhaps never receive from his own soulsucking mother. She wanted to help provide aid to Eddie in any way that they could not simply because he was dating her son, but because he felt like her own son as well. Fortunately, with Maggie and Went not planning to move until autumn, they could provide further support for Eddie and see him off when he left for NYU. 

However, plans changed when they received a call from Eddie, sobbing whilst at the hospital.

Richie and Eddie had been spending as much time as humanly possible together. Mike joined them whenever he was not bombarded with his own responsibilities or researching whatever information he believed to be key in discovering why their friends “forgot” about them. Maggie didn’t think they forgot. It was impossible to forget the people that shaped your entire childhood. 

Eddie, despite his nagging mother, rarely went home and was almost always pressed into Richie’s side. They would spend hours snuggling on the couch, sharing soft whispers next to the pool, and doing whatever else fulfilled their hearts’ desires whenever Maggie and Went were too busy house hunting. It was a nice development for the two of them and truly, they seemed to fall more in love with each other with each kiss, teasing joke, and night spent curled up against each other in Richie’s room which  _ always  _ had the door open nowadays. Richie and Eddie didn’t have to be told once. They just knew to leave it open the minute they decided to head upstairs for the night. 

It was later in the afternoon, not long after a summer thunderstorm had come across Derry when Richie laughed to himself. 

“What’s up?” Eddie asks from across the kitchen table where he is currently filling out some contact information to send to the athletic department at NYU. 

“Nothing. I just remembered something I did after that summer.”

“What?” 

“I think I’ll show you.” He suggests. “Hey guys,” Richie says, getting Maggie and Went’s attention. “Eddie and I are gonna head out for a bit, alright?”

“Okay. Be home before dinner, okay?” Went says, glancing up from the most recent LA Times newspaper he picked up from the Derry Library which features an abundance of house listings that he’s been circling like mad with his favorite firetruck red inked pen. 

“You got it!” Richie beams, pulling Eddie out the door. 

*******

The call comes about fifteen minutes before Went was going to go around in the car and start searching for the boys. Maggie was beginning to feel a familiar worry stirring in her stomach at the absence of her boys and was troubled with quick flashes of  **MISSING** posters from a summer’s past. She is lightning fast in grabbing the phone, hoping to hear the incessant apologies from her son at a payphone who most likely let time escape him whilst showing Eddie whatever he felt obligated to about two hours earlier. 

“Hello?”

“M-Maggie?” Eddie sobs, calling her by her name for the first time and it doesn’t warm her like it did when Bev used to do it. Her blood turns to ice and her heart catches in her chest. Went stands up, his own face draining of color as he takes in her expression. “It’s Eddie. I’m at the hospital.”

“Wh-why are you there, sweetie? What happened?”

“Richie… we were… he wasn’t moving.” She is immediately met with images of an eviscerated truck and her son’s lifeless body slumped over the front wheel—a fear she’s had since he first got behind the wheel. “Someone attacked us.” He sobs and somehow that’s even worse. 

“We’ll be right there, okay?” She says, tears silently rolling down her cheeks. “Everything is going to be okay, Eddie. Alright?” 

“I’m sorry, Maggie. I tried and I just… I was scared.” 

“Don’t apologize, baby. It’s okay. What floor are you on?”

“We’re in the ER but they’re moving him. They said that his lung could be punctured!” He sobs harder. 

She feels her own chest drop at this but she cannot verbalize her fear toward Eddie for he is already wrongly blaming himself. “Okay, stay in the ER. We will be right there.”

“O-okay.” Eddie weeps, hanging up.

She puts the phone back on the base, succumbing to her own fears in the form of heavy sobs that abruptly break all dams she’d held up for Eddie’s sake.

“What happened?” Went whispers, approaching her cautiously, his own brown eyes bright with unshed tears.

“The boys were attacked. Richie is hurt badly.” She manages to explain. “We need to get there now.”

“Shit.” Went whispers, grabbing his keys and following her out the door. “Who did this?”

“I didn’t ask.” She says, wiping at her eyes as Went speeds out of the neighborhood and toward the hospital. “Eddie was… he was so scared. He’s blaming himself.”

“No.” Went sighs. “Poor kid.”

The drive, while easily above the recommended speed limit feels as it drags on as her anxiety surges through her chest. She has no idea how bad of a state her son is in, exactly. Who could have done this to her boy? He’s had enemies his whole life, sure. But the only ones she’s known to have the potential to hospitalize her boy are either dead or institutionalized. Fuck. Could Bowers have broken out and attempted to kill her son? After the thought enters her mind, there is no eliminating it and she has to continuously swallow to prevent herself from retching.

Went pulls into the parking lot, not paying mind to what is most likely a shoddy park job. The two of them channel twenty-year-old energy as they sprint toward the entrance of the ER and skim the room before their eyes settle upon a young man that looks too much like a little boy with his face pressed into his knees as sobs quake his entire form.

“Eddie,” the name passes her lips as she quickly sprints to the boy, her own tears burning her eyes. “Honey.” She says, pulling him into her arms where he quickly collapses into tears. She is startled by his appearance. His eye is bruised, the colors molting into a sickly purple. His bottom lip is swollen and there is a series of welts upon the right side of his forehead and corresponding cheekbone. “Has anyone seen you?”

He shakes his head, crying heavily. “N-no. I couldn’t go back there without knowing what happened to Richie.” 

Her concerns are definitely slightly higher for her son. She cannot pretend that is not a fact but she cannot sit here and let Eddie go untreated for any injuries she might not be seeing and by the looks of it, he’s in fairly rough shape and she can only wonder how bad her son is. But there is nothing she can do for him at the moment so her focus must be placed on the trembling boy before her. 

“You find out where Richie is and wait for anything on him.” She tells Went to which he quickly agrees to. “I am going to get him looked at.”

“Okay, honey.” He pulls Eddie into a gentle hug. “It’s going to be okay, Eds.” He reassures the boy but his words aren’t reflected in his misty, bespeckled eyes. 

“Can you walk, okay?” Maggie asks. Eddie nods and that’s enough for her to usher him toward the desk. “My son was taken back for an assault and he,” she indicates to a quivering Eddie, “has not been seen yet.”

The woman quickly nods, grabbing a few papers. “Someone will get him in a bed as soon as possible. We just need some basic information. 

She sits down with the boy and they quickly go through the form and Maggie easily forges Sonia’s signature and although all of Eddie’s childhood hospital visits were purposeless, he has all of his insurance information remembered and is quick to tell her all the necessary numbers and ID info necessary for him to be seen. She gives the woman the forms and not long after that, Eddie and her are guided back toward a bed where a nurse is there to ease him down into the bed. 

They perform a few basic tests on him, examine his visible injuries before having him strip down so they can further examine him. He flushes red at first and Maggie offers to leave the room to which he quickly asks her not to. She promises to preserve his dignity and keeps her head in her hands as they ease him out of his disheveled clothing and into a gown. She takes his clothes and folds them neatly and lays them on top of her purse. 

They feel up his ribs which elicits a few pained gasps from him and note some swelling in his right wrist. 

“We’re going to take him to get some X-rays and we will be back with some more tests and results.” A nurse informs her before wheeling Eddie away. He seems anxious as he leaves her but clenches his eyes shut and attempts to focus on his unsteady breathing. 

She gives him an encouraging smile just as he disappears around the corner. “Christ.” She mumbles to herself, wiping at her eyes. She wonders how her son is faring somewhere in the bowels of the hospital. If Eddie is this shaken and this roughed up, she fears how her son is going to look. It’s a little over an hour when they return with Eddie. She notices that his wrist is secure in a velcro splint and he appears significantly less jittery as he was when they first took him away. They’ve also given him a pair of seafoam green scrubs to wear which she’s thankful for seeing as they did not think to bring him a change of clothes nor does she think he would enjoy stuffing himself back into the dirty clothes he’d worn earlier or wander around the hospital in a backless gown. 

“We gave him a sedative.” The nurse informs her. “Nothing broken, luckily. His wrist is sprained pretty badly so we took the liberty of splinting that for him His ribs are also bruised pretty badly and he will be in a lot of pain for a few days so we can prescribe him some pain medication if need be, but really ibuprofen should be enough for now.”

She turns to Eddie who nods his head in agreement. “We’ll be just fine with ibuprofen.” 

“Alright, there really is no reason to admit him but if you feel we should, we can prep a room.”

“No thank you.” Eddie croaks. 

“We’ll get him home in one piece.” Maggie adds. 

“Alright. I hope you feel better soon, Eddie. The doctor will probably call sometime this weekend just to check in. If you experience any dizziness, nausea, or increased discomfort, please come back, alright?”

“Okay.” Eddie agrees quietly. Maggie eases him up off the bed and leads him toward the exit. 

“Went should come back once he knows something, alright?” Maggie says. “Do you want me to take you home?” She already knows the answer.

“No.” Eddie answers quickly. “I want to see Richie.”

“Okay, sweetie. Let’s get you sat down at least.” Maggie guides him toward the less crowded portion of the waiting room and helps get him in a comfortable position in the poorly padded seat. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but if you can, can you tell me what exactly happened today?”

Eddie swallows thickly and just briefly Maggie thinks she’s gonna have to grab the trashcan from across the room. “Yeah.” He manages.

“Richie took me to the… the bridge close to the Barrens.” Maggie knows this to be the Kissing Bridge and in other circumstances she may feel giddy with joy at this information but her fear is too much to feel anything resembling joy. “We were just hanging out and he… you know.” There’s never been shame on his face in discussing his relations with Richie before and this isn’t necessarily shame, but terror? Guilt? She cannot pinpoint it.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And while we were just minding our business, this group of three guys came over and started calling us names and one of them shoved him. I got mad and yelled at them to leave us alone and then they knocked me down and started kicking me. Richie got up and punched one of them and started running his fucking mouth and then the other two started beating him up while the third one kept kicking at me.” He shudders as the memory visibly courses through his brain. 

“Did you know who they were?” Her previous suspicions of it being Bowers evaporates.

“No.” He answers, voice cracking. “We’d never seen any of them before. They just were upset that Richie… Richie kissed me and they wouldn’t stop hurting him. They just kept hitting him even when he stopped yelling at them. He was barely m-moving. I thought he was dead and they just left us there. I couldn’t move him but someone stopped and left to call 911.” 

“Did they get away?”

Eddie nods, a sob escaping his throat. Maggie pulls him close as he cries into her shoulder. “I-I couldn’t do anything except watch. I couldn’t help him even when that guy stopped hitting me. I couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch. Richie could’ve fucking died and I was just too scared to move so I  _ let  _ them beat him up. I-I’m so sor—”

“No, no, no. None of that.” Maggie whispers, tears silently passing the surface of her own eyes. “You did nothing wrong, honey. The only people at fault are the ones who did this to the both of you.”

“I just… I wish I helped him.” Eddie stammers. “I want to see him so badly it hurts.”

“I know. We will soon. Just rest, okay?” She asks of him, rubbing gentle circles into his back. He nods against her, his body occasionally giving an involuntary tremble as he attempts to relax. 

Eddie manages to doze for a bit as the adrenaline from the day’s events leave him and the effects of the sedative from earlier work their magic and his eyes simply cannot remain open anymore. She herself cannot find any bliss for she has not even  _ seen  _ her son yet and horrific images continue to flash across the forefront of her mind as she traces the alphabet with her thumb against Eddie’s spine in order to soothe him while still giving her something to put focus and energy into that does not pertain to the unknown state of her baby. 

Finally, Went makes a reappearance, looking more disheveled than when he left. “Hey.” He greets, rubbing a hand across his face. Eddie shifts at the voice, eyes fluttering open. “How’re you doing, Spaghetti?” Went asks, reaching out and stroking his cheek with his thumb.

“Okay.” He mumbles. “Is Richie okay?”

“Well, they are going to keep him tonight for observation.” Went starts. “He’s awake now and we can see him for about two hours before visiting hours ends. One of us can stay with him tonight seeing as he is still our dependent.” 

“I can stay with him if you stay with Eds.”

“I would be more than happy to… but we will eventually have to call his mom since all his records and bills will be sent to her. I’ll take care of that in the morning and just cover whatever her insurance doesn’t.” 

“Can we go up now?”

“Yeah. They already got him a private room.” Went leads them toward the elevator, up a few floors and toward a room where his doctor, a kind faced woman, is exiting. 

“Hi Mr. Tozier.” She says. “He got a little panicky with you being gone so we’ve sedated him. He is still awake, but I have a feeling that won’t last much longer.” She turns to Maggie. “Are you Mrs. Tozier?”

She nods. “Yes. You can call me Maggie.” 

“It’s a pleasure, Maggie. I’m Richie’s doctor for his case and I do want to keep him for the next night or two just for observation, okay?” 

“That’s fine. Is there any way you can give me a rundown of everything? I just… I want to know what I’m getting into before I see him.” 

“Of course.” The doctor says, flipping through some of her papers. “He did not have a punctured lung, luckily. He does have several broken ribs and a lot of bruising across his abdomen and around his kidneys so if there is blood in his urine, it is nothing to be overly concerned about.” Maggie’s heart jolts at that. How can bloody piss not be a reason for  _ extreme  _ concern? “If it persists for more than a week, I would address it but right now it’s not to be fretted over. He has a rather severe concussion and that’s the most pressing of our concerns right now. Both cheekbones were fractured and he did end up needing some stitches around his eye where his glasses broke and we also needed to stitch up the back of his head where he must’ve hit his head when he fell. Ultimately, he is looking pretty rough but he will be alright in a few weeks or so. He just needs a lot of rest.” 

“Okay,” She says slowly, processing the information.“Thank you for everything.”

“Of course. I will also be giving you a referral to a therapist as he seems very shaken up by the incident and it is not uncommon for one to develop PTSD after being subject to an experience as traumatic as this.” 

Maggie feels they will definitely want to utilize such resources now and once they get to California for her son and hopefully get Sonia to take Eddie to a decent counselor for his own feelings as well. “Thank you again. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“It’s no problem. Have a good night.” 

Maggie takes a deep breath before entering the room with Eddie and Went. Even in the dim light, her heart immediately sinks at the sight of her son. Despite the medication they’ve doped him with in order to relax him, it is quite obvious he is far from any sense of bliss as fear is clear in his hazy eyes and in the trembles of his welted hands. His face is mottled with innumerable bruises, having already aged into a disturbing violet. One of his eyes is completely swollen shut. He’s in a gown which does a moderately decent job at covering the welts and bruising that is definitely beneath the thin fabric but does nothing to ease the distress she feels upon seeing Richie. 

“Hi sweetie.” She whispers, knowing his head has to be absolutely throbbing with it’s injury. 

Richie waves weakly at her, but his attention zeroes in on his boyfriend. “Eds? A-are you okay?” His voice sounds like he’s swallowed nothing but cigarette ashes and shattered glass for the past eighteen years of his life. 

“Me? Have you seen yourself?” Eddie whimpers hushedly. “I’m so sor—”

“Uh-uh.” Richie says, holding his arms out to the other boy who hobbles over wrapping himself around Richie without knocking any of the stuff they’ve got him hooked up to. 

“How are you feeling, baby?” Maggie asks.

“Shitty.” He rasps. He scoots a little, wincing as the movement pulls at his broken ribs. 

“I bet.” Went sighs. “Did you know who they were, Rich?”

“No. Neither of us had ever seen them. They just attacked us.” Richie murms, wriggling uncomfortably. He takes a shallow breath and pats the empty space next to him.

“Rich, no.” Eddie says.

“You look dead on your feet. Lay down with me.” Richie pleads hoarsely. 

“I’ll help you, Eds.” Went offers and Eddie complies as Went helps situate him in the space next to his son. The two quickly fit into each other, releasing a few pained grunts before finding a position that is suitable for their battered bodies. 

Maggie pulls a chair close to the bed, pushing some of Richie’s stray curls away from his scuffed forehead. “I’m sorry this happened to you two.” 

Richie shrugs, a small grimace pulling at his face at the movement. He’s not going to be up to his usual antics for the rest of the summer; that much is evident. “Yeah. I mean we know  _ why  _ they did, obviously.” 

Went sighs. “Yeah. We do.” Went rubs the side of his face. “They’ll probably want you both to talk to the police you know. Don’t worry about it now, but it’ll have to happen. Now, you just need to worry about healing. Both of you.”

“What can we even say?” Eddie asks. “We can’t tell them everything. The Derry police aren’t exactly the most objective people.” 

Maggie can’t pretend he’s wrong. Even with Butch Bowers six feet under, the force is just as keen to turn their head the other way when it’s conveinent for them or a crime is committed against a minority group they are wrongly prejudiced toward. If Richie and Eddie were to give the full details of what happened at the Kissing Bridge and why these young men attacked them, the cops may find them just so they could grant the assailants an award or something whilst completely disregarding the abuse inflicted upon her son and Eddie.

“We’ll work something out.” Maggie attempts to reassure, rubbing a hand across Eddie’s knee. The two nod, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

“I can get Eddie home.” Went suggests. 

“Mmph.” Eddie grunts, losing the fight against his body’s need for sleep. 

“You can sleep in Richie’s bed tonight. I’d rather explain everything to your mom in person, tomorrow.”

“I think that should work out.”

“Sorry Eds.” Richie mumbles tiredly, slumping deeper into his own near-flat hospital pillows. 

“Don’t be.” Eddie tells him, getting out of bed with some assistance from Went. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll bring him.” Went says. 

“Bring Richie’s spare glasses.”

“Those were my spares.” He mumbles, barely managing to keep his eyes open. 

“I’ll try to get a new pair from the office tomorrow, alright?” He snorts. “You two get some rest.” He presses a kiss to Maggie’s forehead and gives Richie a gentle pat on the knee before leaving with Eddie. 

“Get some sleep, sweetheart.” Maggie says, knowing it’s pointless as her son’s eyes are already rolling back. 

Richie’s breathing,while still stiff and shallow as a result of his cracked ribs, falls gentle and soft as he drifts into a sleep. Not long after he’s succumbed to his exhaustion, a nurse wheels in a cot for her to use for the night seeing as the chair in the room is definitely not suitable for anyone beyond the size of an average fourth grader to spend more than two hours in. The cot itself isn’t especially comfortable but it’s the least of her concerns right now. She manages to make herself feel vaguely content with a few bouncy twists and turns before finding a position that may result in minimal strained muscles to wake up to. 

She dozes for an undetermined amount of time but awakens to the sounds of Richie yelling and thrashing about. She shoots out of bed, stumbling over her feet, and puts her hands on Richie’s shoulders in order to prevent him from aggravating his injuries. 

“Richie! Wake up!” She says as loud as she can without triggering the vice around his injured skull. 

He inhales sharply, eyes wide and confused as he takes in the blurriness around him. He chokes slightly whether it be from the demons that formulated such a dramatic night terror or because he’s hurt himself further with his jerkiness, Maggie cannot tell. 

A nurse comes in and Maggie realizes his heart rate must be elevated and must have triggered some alarms. 

“Richard? Are you okay?” She asks, quickly jogging over to them, already taking his vitals..

“Y-yeah.” He manages. “I just had a bad dream.”

“We can give him another sedative if need be.” She offers. “This is really not uncommon for assault victims.”

Richie cringes at the word ‘assault’ and shakes his head. “No. I’m okay.” 

“Alright, if anything changes you can hit the nurse call button and we’ll be sure to help you in any way possible.”

“Thank you.” Maggie says and then turns her attention to Richie once she leaves who had clearly put up a guard when she entered and it is now visibly crumbling as tears spill down his cheeks. “Honey, what happened?”

“I just… I dreamt about it happening again.” He swallows thickly, unable to wipe away the tears streaming down his face for any touch against his bruised cheeks would surely create a spike of agony. “I was scared, mom. They wouldn’t stop and I thought they were going to hurt E-Eddie and I couldn’t do anything. ” 

“Honey, you couldn’t. It was three against two.” She wraps her arms loosely around him, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Is it always going to be like this?” He asks as shivers quake his body. 

“I don’t know, honey.” She does though. In a place like Derry, it’s always going to be like this and she’s feared this since he was small and now, she’s allowed her family to remain here long enough for her fears to become a reality. 

He leans against her and allows himself to cry full, ugly sobs as emotions of hatred for his attackers and (wrongly for) himself for being who he is, rage within him. Maggie knows they can no longer stay here. Things aren’t going to be perfect  _ anywhere  _ they go—but nowhere can be as dark and horrific as Derry, Maine has proven itself to be. Derry breeds monsters she’s come to realize. It was once a small town she saw as safe and a perfect town to raise her newborn son. She had seen a life where he grew up, living fearlessly and with sheer excitement with the friends he made. He did make friends. He had been able to find some of the best people in his life but because of who he was, the person that had  _ nothing  _ wrong with him except in the eyes of the bigots that composed this vile town, he’d had to spend a majority of his life always hiding who he really was and nervously looking over his shoulder should someone unpleasant figure it out and use it against him. This was not a place for the Toziers. It hadn’t been for years and sure they were already set to leave in a few months, but Maggie knows they cannot stay here any longer as she holds her crying boy. 

xXx

Richie is asleep when Went arrives the minute visiting hours begin. He’d cried into her collarbone for nearly an hour before finally exhausting himself once more. Luckily he did not rouse from anymore terrors but it was a sleep Maggie knew was not sound. 

“Hey.” Went whispers as he slides into the room. 

“Did you get Eddie home?” 

“Not yet, no. I decided to let him sleep in a little more. Sonia was not happy on the phone just because he hadn’t checked in and I think this is something we might need to discuss when things aren’t this fresh.” Went informs her, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Any report as to when he can go home? I don’t want Eddie to wake up alone.”

“They think he can go home once he wakes up. They’ll just check his vitals one more and we can leave then.”

“Alright, so soon?”

She nods and heaves a sigh. “I want you to buy that house in Glendale.”

“Which one?” He seems puzzled. They hadn’t found any they were necessarily keen on. When they found their home in Derry, they’d been overjoyed and believed it to be the perfect home for them. It was. The only negative was the town in which it was located. “I didn’t think you liked any except that one near the outlets but it had water damage, Mags.”

“I don’t care. I want us to get a lease, now.” She insists. “I don’t give a damn about water damage. I want out of here. I want us to get a lease, get the movers here by next week, and get the fuck out of Derry by the end of the month.”

“Wow, wow, wow, Maggie.” Went seems startled. “Where’s this coming from?”

“ _ This. _ ” She nearly shrieks, gesturing toward their son. “We cannot let him be in this godforsaken fucking shit hole any longer. I won’t, Wentworth. I will not stay here anymore.”

“Honey, we’re already getting out of here. We don’t need to jump on this.”

“Yes we do. Have you not seen our boy? He could have been killed and why?” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Because he’s  _ gay?  _ If these doctors knew he was, half of them would probably not have treated him and you know that.” Went looks down, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “I never should have let us stay here this long and seeing him like  _ this... _ I know I can’t let him be here anymore.”

“I know. I just, I hate to see this move go wrong.”

“It can’t go wrong if we’re getting out of here, Went. It can’t. You can stay here and wait if you want, but I’m not staying here anymore. I won’t let it happen. I know he’ll never be 100% safe anywhere he goes, but here, he’s just walking around with a target on his back and I don’t want him here anymore.” She chokes on a sob. “He was crying so hard last night, Went. We can’t keep him here—where someone beat him half to death. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“I know. He doesn’t.” Went agrees. “I’ll call the owner. I’ll call the realtor to get our house on the market. I’ll get the movers scheduled for sometime this month. I’m with you on this, honey. I don’t want him here either.” He sighs. “It’s going to kill him though—with Eddie.”

“I know.” She whimpers. “I want them to be together as long as possible. But we can’t let him stay here and he  _ will  _ stay in contact with Eddie. I know he will. They’re not like the rest of them.”

“No, they’re not.” Went smiles meekly. “Those boys are meant for each other anywhere but here.”

*******

xXx

As expected, neither Richie or Eddie take the news well. They beg and bargain for the Toziers to stay in Derry as long as initially planned, but the lease has already been pushed through and there is no changing Maggie’s mind on this. She can only offer a tight hug around the boys as they wail about their impending separation. They know there’s no hope in the Toziers extending their stay so they know they have to make the most of their time together.

Sonia Kaspbrak is not happy in the slightest about the fact that her Eddiekins is not spending more time at home the summer before he is to “abandon her” for a college that will be only thirty minutes away from her. However, she was absolutely thrilled by the fact that the Toziers were leaving, especially after Maggie explained what had happened to the boys once Richie was finally released from the hospital.

It took every ounce of Maggie’s strength not to leave their house and slap Sonia across her sagging cheeks as she hissed out, “You know it’s  _ your  _ son’s fault that this happened.” 

“Excuse me?” Maggie had scoffed. “I am here, offering to pay for your son’s medical bills and I don’t know if you knew this, but my son was hospitalized and not because I forced him to be like you would have done to poor Eddie had we contacted you beforehand.”

“They attacked him because he’s a dirty, dirty boy and you  _ let  _ him be that way and you’re letting him  _ steal  _ my son away and try to make him as filthy as your disgrace of a boy.” She sneered. “If only they hit him a little harder, then this town would be cleaner and safer for my Eddie.”

“Go fuck yourself, Sonia.” Maggie growled and before she could bite her own tongue she said, “Frank got lucky,” before slamming the phone down on the base. 

Despite Sonia’s persistent pleads for her son to return home, Eddie rarely leaves the Tozier residence as he wants as much time with Richie as possible. He has offered to lend a helping hand in their packing process but of course Maggie and Went refuse to accept such help from him and Richie as both boys are still recovering physically and mentally from their assault. Instead, the two of them lay in Richie’s room and Maggie can occasionally hear them whispering to each other and other times her heart sinks as one of them attempts to muffle their cries while the other makes an attempt to soothe the other, only to succumb to their own emotions. 

Maggie knows the two of them are scared of falling under the same spell of forgetfulness that seems to have fallen upon their fellow Losers. Eddie panics about Richie never calling him again when he leaves Derry but Richie, Maggie, and Went all reassure him that will not happen. The two are not entirely convinced and have put together little mementos for one another in order to remind them to keep in contact with each other after the Toziers make their departure. 

Richie gives Eddie several different polaroids of the two of them and writes  **Your fav Dick Toaster <3 ** on each of them in bright red ink. He makes several new mixtapes with  _ Don't You Forget About Me  _ as the first song on each tape. He even decides to give Eddie some of his most worn sweatshirts to keep. The Toziers also write down their new address for him and since they don’t know what their home phone number will be just yet, Went has taken the liberty of giving Eddie the number to his practice so Eddie can call there and Went will be sure to give him their new number so he can stay in contact with Richie and of course, him and Maggie who will also desperately miss him as well.

Richie is certain to not leave Mike out either. He is understanding about the Toziers deciding to leave earlier given the circumstances and while Richie gives him a few pictures of the two of them and a hand-written note, Mike does not seem as hopeful that Richie will be in contact with him after he moves as he had been when the other Losers first left. His faith in hearing from his friends after they leave has diminished completely and he simply gives Richie a half smile and gives him a big bear hug and tells him to take good care of Eduardo. No inclination that he wants to hear back from Richie simply because he’s not keen on having his hopes shattered once more. Maggie knows Richie will be different and will hopefully surprise him when that call finally comes.

Eddie has also given Richie some of his favorite pictures of the two of them, signing them with  **Eds** in navy blue cursive. He takes the time to write Richie several different letters that he is  _ not allowed _ to open until they get to California. He isn’t quite sure where he’ll be living at NYU but he writes down the mailing information of the university and promises to give Richie his address when he moves in. 

It doesn’t seem like much, but they’re doing as much as they physically can to ensure that they remember each other. Eddie means everything to her son and she knows Richie is just as important to Eddie. To not have each other in their lives would render their existences unfulfilled just as Maggie feels she would be without Wentworth.

Everything goes by fast. Too fast for the boys. They’ve healed remarkably but Maggie knows the mental scars are still there as they are equally more jumpy and riddled with night terrors about the incident. Maggie desperately wishes that they could take Eddie with them and not force him to be alone in this town until he can escape to New York. Luckily, he will have Mike at his side who has offered to let Eddie hang out at his place since he is more than aware of Eddie’s disdain for his own toxic home environment. 

On their final night together, she knows neither of them sleep as she can hear them crying in Richie’s bedroom which is absolutely bare with the exception of a suitcase filled with the essentials he’ll need for the cross country drive and his bed which the movers will take along with her and Went’s bed tomorrow morning. Just before she falls into an easy sleep, she can hear the two of them tearfully reminiscing about the first time they met.

The morning is harder. Went has the car packed and the movers have already begun their journey toward their new home. Eddie has no desire to return to his own home until after the Toziers have left and has planned to see them off until they pull away from Derry, never to return. Maggie knows he probably won’t want to return even after that for he will be in such an emotional state and the company of his mother will do nothing to ease that. He will most likely venture out to Mike’s or the Clubhouse to spend some time alone. 

Maggie and Went do one last walk through of the home they selected when she was heavy with her unborn son that now stands outside, clutching his cat and attempting (and failing) to maintain a semblance of composure as he gets ready to leave his boyfriend. 

“I know not all the memories here are good, but I’m gonna miss it and the good ones we did make here.” Went says, pulling her close.

“You nearly blew a gasket in here when I told you that my water broke.” She whispers to him.“He took his first steps right there.” She points to an area where their couch used to be. 

“He stuffed hot tamales up his nose right there, too.” Went sniffles. “Fucking idiot.”

“He came out to us in the kitchen.” She murmurs, wiping away her own tears. 

“There’s some good here. There always will be.” Went sighs, wrapping his arms around her. “We did a lot of good here… and up there too.” He nods toward their bedroom.

“Shut up.” She laughs wetly. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too. I’ll miss it. Not the town, but this.” 

“I will too.” Went admits and then looks outside where Eddie and Richie are holding each other, Eduardo mewling between the two of them. “We have to get going. We have a long drive ahead of us.”

“Yeah. We do.” She agrees sadly, stepping out of the house. 

Richie meets her eyes and he hiccups around another fit of sobs. He knows it’s time to go now. 

Eddie turns to them and throws his arms around the two of them. “Thank you for being my mom and dad and for helping me actually live.”

“You were always our boy too, Eds.” Maggie tells him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“We love you so much, Spaghetti.” Went ruffles his hair. “Don’t ever be a stranger, alright?” 

He nods. “I love you guys.”

“We love you too. We’ll see you soon. We promise.” Maggie chokes out and catches Richie’s bloodshot eyes as he stands near the  **FOR SALE** sign with Eduardo straining upward to lick away the salty tears rolling past his jawline. “We’ll give you guys a moment, alright.”

“Thank you.” He says, turning back to Richie. 

Maggie and Went walk past Richie, taking Eduardo from him and giving him sad smiles just before they settle themselves in the car, averting their eyes in order to grant them one last private moment. Maggie briefly glimpses up as Richie gives a wet laugh as Eddie sticks a fluffy dandelion behind his ear, reminiscent of their days on the playground as tiny little kindergarteners that would grow up too fast. They take nearly ten minutes of just talking and holding onto each other before they give each other one last public kiss, a  _ fuck you  _ to the town that is home of the bigots that hurt them for such an innnocent act. 

Their love, while it will be distant, will never fail.

They hold onto each other for just a moment longer before deciding it is time and no amount of heartfelt words or warm touches is going to do anything to mend the hurt they are clearly feeling. 

Eddie walks him toward the back door and graciously opens it for him. “You won’t forget?” He chokes as Richie pulls his seatbelt on.

“I could never. You won’t forget?”

“I could never forget you, Rich.” he steps away, allowing Richie to close his door. “I promise.” He weeps out as Went starts the car. 

Richie rolls down his window. “I promise, too. Bye Eds… I… I love you.” 

Maggie and Went jolt slightly at that. It’s not a surprise to them but it’s clearly the first time he’s said these words to Eddie based upon his stunned expression. 

“I love you, too.” Eddie starts waving. “Bye guys.

“Bye Eds.” Richie shouts as they begin pulling out of the driveway. 

Maggie and Went silently wave goodbye and finally Went begins the drive off what had been their street for eighteen years. Richie throws himself half out the window to wave at Eddie until finally, he can no longer see the love of his life. Richie slumps back in his seat, rolling up the window and finally succumbs to loud and painful sobs. 

“I know, sweetie. I know.” Maggie says, holding her hand out to him which he takes. “It’s okay.”

“I do love him.” He confesses. “I really do.”

“We know you do, Rich. We always did. You guys will be with each other again, soon enough. I promise.” Went tells him and finally he reaches Derry’s boundary line. He crosses over it, and their existence in what is surely the seventh layer of hell is over.

xXx

Richie eventually dozes off once they cross the Maine border, having exhausted himself with the flow of emotions he’d been unable to contain. He lays slumped against the window of the car door and Eduardo sits right next to him having also fallen victim to sleep. The drive is silent for the most part for while they feel a sense of relief for making what is certainly the right choice in escaping Derry, there is a heavy sadness that pangs them all deep in their chest at the prospect of leaving not only Eddie and Mike behind, but the better memories they’d made for themselves in their home. 

They continue the drive with a few pit stops until they reach Buffalo, New York and decide it is time for a break. They drive around for a bit before settling on a cat-friendly hotel that is cheap— but not so cheap that they will be faced with bed bugs and visibly dirty sheets. Went takes it upon himself to get them checked in while Maggie is given the task of rousing their sleeping son. 

“Rich? Sweetie?” She says gently, pushing at his knee.

“Gufh?” He grumbles, blinking owlishly. 

“We’re stopping for the night, alright?” She tells him.

He nods tiredly, stretching out until he feels a few satisfying pops in his back and legs. “Kay. Where are we?”

“Buffalo. Your dad is getting us a room right now so we can take a break and then start again tomorrow.” 

“That’s good.” He says, scooping up Eduardo and getting out of the car so he can stretch a little more. . 

She follows suit, feeling rather stiff herself. She glances at her watch and decides it’s late enough for Eddie to be asleep right now unless he too has cried himself into exhaustion. “It’s not too late, so once we get into the room you can call Eddie if you’d like.”

Richie looks confused as he rubs his fingers through their cat’s fur. “The cat?” He asks.

“No silly.” She giggles, figuring his brain must still be sleep fogged. “ _ Your  _ Eddie.”

“Who’s Eddie?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that Richie forgetting starts on chapter 27 was sheer coincidence and I am a fan.
> 
> I hope this one was okay. I am kinda nervous about this one in terms of the subject matter and the general writing. My brain has been very mushy lately because mental health? We don't know her. Ooof. I'm also really sorry about the ending. I feel it's way too rushed but I really couldn't drag it out anymore. I hope it's okay and not frustrating to read. 
> 
> Summer is gonna be dull for the most part so talk to me in the comments! Or on tumblr (th0r-gasm)! I've met some pretty cool people that way (s/o to the noodles who know who they are). Be my fucking friend and regret your decision a day later just as they certainly have. 
> 
> Everything is starting to feel normal but Richie and Eddie still cannot trust the world so they're starting a tomato garden with seeds they had hands-free delivered and teaching Ophelia how to do some interesting tricks. Life is okay. They are going to sleep under the stars tonight.


	28. Part IV: Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to preface this by saying I know things are complicated and I hope this story is an escape for those scared by the situation here in the States. But I am going to say some stuff and if that upsets you, skip this A/N: There needs to be justice for George Floyd and every other black person that has been wrongly killed and subject to maltreatment from the racism in our society that literally has not changed in the slightest. Being "neutral" is choosing the side of the oppressor. I know this is not a platform for politics but I encourage you to stand with your brothers and sisters and to donate if you can. I understand financially, we are almost all struggling given many of us are out of work but if you can PLEASE DO. Spread the word. Do not be silent. If you are white, acknowledge your privilege and use it to stand up because I can and you can stand up without many consequences. Is it fair? No. Can you use it? Yes. 
> 
> Here are some ways to show support, not all of which are financially-based featured in this link: https://www.thecut.com/article/george-floyd-protests-how-to-help-where-to-donate.html 
> 
> Additionally, there is a youtube named Zoe Amira that posted an hour long YT video filled with art and music from black creators. It is filled with tons of ads and will result in a ton of ad revenue which she intends to donate to various organizations; be sure your ad blocker is OFF: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCgLa25fDHM
> 
> None of this "All Lives Matters" Bullshit. All lives matter when all lives are valued and treated equally which they're not. None of the "I can't be racist, I have black friends" bullshit. Nope. Micro-aggressions and dismissive behavior is racist. These "black friends" just have not realized what a piss-poor friend these people are or they've chosen not to speak up. Ignorance and abysmal behavior is not excused because of what friends someone has. 
> 
> If you are protesting, please be safe. There are a lot of tips of what to wear while out there and what to do whilst out there. FOLLOW THEM. Be safe. I am not fully educated on all of this. I know I'm not. I am still learning. Educating yourself and using your voice is a good step and it is one I am making now and have been for years. You may never fully understand what is going on if you come from a place of privilege (as I do), but you can still make strives in the right direction. I will never fully comprehend this but I think it is a duty for everyone to stand up for what is right, here. I know typing a few words is not enough but acknowledging, speaking, and acting makes a huge difference and does infinitely more than staying silent/ignoring the situation.
> 
> ______
> 
> On to the story: 
> 
> This chapter is going to be an absolute shit show. I am in a strange grey area of writing at the moment. This is all content independent of much mentioned in the actual film because again, not referencing the book. So this is just all my HCs coming to life? Yikes! This all falls on my own interpretation of what happens from college-Ch. 2 content and Im ngl Im really scared of making it super shitty so if there's a decline in quality, I am horribly sorry. Im not feeling too confident in my delivery here. This chapter isn't particularly interesting most likely for it isn't really that eventful but I am trying though!!! I'm not trying to shit on myself but it's lowkey difficult not to because my self-doubt is MONUMENTAL. 
> 
> I struggled to write this one a lot and I hope it's not too obvious. 
> 
> TW: Talks of internalized homophobia, PTSD, depression, etc.

Maggie knew Richie left a piece of himself back in that godforsaken town.

**August 1994**

It was normal to forget the basic details of childhood. Not everyone remembered their very first playdate with the kid from across the street even if said playdate spawned a lifelong friendship. Most people cannot remember their favorite childhood dessert until the memory is triggered by a scent in a grocery store bakery or the buzz of taste buds when biting into a pastry that is eerily similar to the one a grandmother insisted was a family-owned recipe but was actually store bought. Rarely does one recall the names of their elementary school teachers unless they left a particularly sour taste in the mouth after making their entire fourth grade experience absolutely abysmal. What was  _ not _ normal, however, was completely forgetting nearly  _ every _ single detail of one one’s childhood and apparently having absolutely no recollection of where said childhood even took place—and that seemed to be the case for Maggie’s son. 

Richie forgetting Eddie was a shock and had Maggie in a state of panic that left the young man absolutely bewildered. She’d begun asking about other friends and he seemed to have no idea what she was talking about and was visibly uncomfortable with the questions she had asked that day. Briefly, she believed it was  _ herself  _ that’d gone mad and sought out reassurance from her husband when he returned, room keys in hand. But of course, being unable to read a room, he decided to be an asshole before realizing the severity of the situation. 

“Went, you remember Eddie Kaspbrak, right?” She had pleaded in the middle of the hotel parking lot.

“Who?” Went cocked an eyebrow. The color had immediately left Maggie’s face and she had truly believed that she was going to pass out right there. 

“W-what?” She had managed to gasp out. 

“Of course I remember Eddie, Mags. What’s gotten into you?” He chuckled, still not having gathered the weight of their present circumstances.

“Richie doesn’t.”

Went whipped his head around, his own face wiped colorless. “You don’t remember Eddie, Rich?” 

“I know the cat.” Richie muttered feebly, holding up Eduardo as emphasis.

“Who gave you that cat?” Maggie asked him. 

Richie shrugged. “I dunno. Some pet store?” 

“You don’t remember Mike?” Went questioned. Richie shook his head. “Stan? Bill? Ben? Bev?”

“I don’t know who those people are.” Richie confessed, hunching in on himself.

Maggie immediately popped open the trunk and began digging through the shoebox Eddie had given her son. She found a polaroid of the two together, signed with ink that had smudged under her son’s sweaty fingers. She forced the picture in his face and there was not even a flicker of recognition in his blue eyes. “You don’t recognize this boy? Or this picture?”

“No.” Richie said, irritated. “What is the point of this?”

“Richie, do you remember anything from Derry?” Went demanded and at the mention of Derry, Richie had dropped their cat and doubled over to throw up in the middle of the parking lot. 

It was a start of what could only be described as a downward spiral for Richie. He seemed indifferent to this concerning forgetfulness and only grew increasingly agitated when he was reminded that it was abnormal for one to not be able to recollect a single detail of their childhood—hell it was even more distressing that he’s completely forgotten things that’d just happened months, weeks, days,  _ hours  _ before they escaped the shithole that had been his hometown which had him nearly tossing cookies anytime it was mentioned by name. He’d visibly left vital pieces of himself the day they left Derry. It was as if a chunk of his identity had been snatched before their eyes and what was left was some crude puppet attempting to impersonate their Richie with incessant chatter that was not nearly as excitable as it once was, jokes that lacked the same side-stitching quality, and a half smile that never truly met his now dull eyes. 

He lacked the same aura of confidence and bravery that while not as strong as Maggie would have liked to see from her son, was still there and evident in his drive to do something special and made  _ him  _ smile at the end of the day. Richie never had a high level of confidence not that he ever owned up to that, but he skipped to the beat of his own drum and that had been manifested as a result of being around some of the best friends in the shittiest of towns. There was a fire that burned in her son when he entered a room and it was almost entirely extinguished and growing dimmer with each day since leaving the town that literally tried to break him for simply being who he was with a boy he had once loved unconditionally and now could not even remember his name.

That was another thing. The bruises and welts that were still very visible and still healing after the incident that warranted this move—he had no idea what they were from. He saw nothing wrong with that. He simply shrugged and somehow fabricated this idea that he’d crashed the bike he’d outgrown in middle school and hadn’t really ridden since receiving his license. Maggie and Went had sat him down once they’d gotten partially moved into their new home and attempted to explain what had been done to him without the more gruesome details and  _ why  _ it had been done to him. 

“I’m not gay.” Richie immediately spat at them.

“Are you bis--” Went started slowly only to be abruptly cut off by their son’s angry voice. They had started to further their education in regards to human sexuality prior to Richie’s attack and had truly started immersing themselves in more relevant source material. Sexuality was something that did not have to remain concrete in one’s life and they knew that now. There was a possibility that he may have just come to terms with this upon moving.

“I don’t like boys. I like girls I always have.” Richie had insisted.

“Richie, what about Edd—” Maggie tried.

“I don’t know this fucking Eddie you say I knew or dated or whatever. I’m  _ not  _ gay and I never was. I’m not… I’m not  _ sick. _ ”

And that had warranted the start of Richie’s therapy which he absolutely despised and insisted that he did not need. Initially the search was extremely complicated because few therapists knew how to handle a young man with crippling self esteem, no recollection of his childhood, and a sudden re-repression of his sexuality that he had been coming to terms with since his early teens. Additionally it seemed confusing to most practices that Maggie was concerned that her gay son was insisiting that he was straight and wanted to help him realize there was nothing “sick” or “wrong” about him should he finally reaccept himself. 

The first time she attempted to explain this to a receptionist did not go particularly well.

“Oh, our counselors here do not practice conversion therapy, I’m sorry.” The gentleman had said uneasily.

“What? No.” Maggie defended. “He already came out but now he thinks it’s a bad thing. I’m not  _ that  _ kind of mom.” 

They were still a little shifty about her explanation and Maggie had to continue her search elsewhere which proved to be extremely difficult for no one was well versed in the psychology of sudden amnesia regarding one’s identity and life prior to a sudden move. Eventually, they were able to find a therapist about an hour outside of Glendale and while it was not the most convenient for them, it was worth it to Maggie and Went for the solid six visits Richie actually was willing to go to before deciding he had had enough because he had no idea what he was supposed to be remembering or feeling. 

The therapy itself wasn’t even that helpful in Maggie’s opinion. She knew therapy could be a beneficial thing and it was always something she’d wanted for Richie since he was small, but as of now it seemed like there was truly no one out there that could comprehend his situation, let alone  _ help  _ him. The woman he did see for those six visits boiled the forgetfulness and redeveloped internalized homophobia to PTSD; which made sense to an extent especially after he’d been victim to such a brutal assault. However, Maggie did not believe it to be that simple. Maggie had always known just about everything about her son but this was an instance where she truly could say she was absolutely clueless and had absolutely no leads in determining why this was all happening to her boy. 

She desperately needed answers and attempted to seek them out in the form of phone calls and letters. She knew the Kaspbraks would not be moving till the end of August and that the Hanlons were set to be in Derry for the foreseeable future. However, each call, even ones she made to random businesses located in Derry were immediately dropped after a singular ring regardless of the phone she or Went attempted to use. Each letter addressed to Eddie or Mike was rejected in the mail and she would find it back in their mailbox the very next day with a  **COULD NOT SEND** stamp pressed across the front.

It was as if by leaving Derry, they’d somehow excommunicated themselves from the town and managed to remove the town’s existence from their son’s brain. There was no explanation that she nor Went could logically come to but it made everything with the apparent abandonment committed by Richie’s friends that’d left before him make more sense. It was disturbing to her and there was nothing she could think of doing to mend this except force her family back into that town but that was out of the question seeing as they left for a reason. She was realizing, however, that Mike had been onto something when he suspected something was causing their friends to not reach out and while she wanted to investigate further, she simply could not drop everything in her life and figure it out no matter how unsettling the situation was to her and Went. 

They had to focus on getting settled into their new home and of course repairing the water damage that when initially deciding a move was their best choice seemed miniscule in comparison, but was now a brunt of their problems since it was truly an expensive nuisance to mend. Went was focused on getting himself in the swing of things at his new co-owned practice which was fairly easy for him seeing as everyone always fell victim to her husband’s charm even when he was informing them that  _ with _ insurance their dental procedure would cost more than their last house payment. 

Maggie herself had not started working again just yet as she spent most of her time helping Richie get around with the still-sore body that he didn’t seem to question much and unpacking the boxes she could manage with the help she would allow Richie to contribute. She did plan on returning to work as a receptionist once more within the next year but right now she was focused on making this new Californian home feel just as welcoming and warm as the one she and Went managed to create back in Maine. 

What truly held her focus, however, was Richie getting ready to move into his freshman year dorm and kick off his college career. Initially, she and Went contemplated having him take a gap year after the assault and the following burst of amnesia, but he was insistent on going as soon as possible and while most of Richie’s personality seemed to have escaped him since leaving Derry, his stubbornness remained intact. 

It was something that left her weeping most nights as his days under their roof trickled away too fast for her liking. She longed for the days where he was small enough to be tucked into her arms, gazing up at her with eyes that were barely capable of sight but still managed to recognize her with a gummy smile that lit up his chubby face. She missed him toddling around the living room on legs that were just as unsteady as his now mile-long ones and hearing him gurgle excitedly around a pacifier whilst thrusting some toy in her face. Gone were the days of him being the little boy with a helplessly naive view of the cruel word and a desire to always be next to his Mama and Dada. 

He was a young man that while close to her still, had distanced himself significantly with the rift that developed as a result of the confusion and irritation he boiled with when they expressed their concerns for his sudden mind wipe. He felt misunderstood in a way he could not begin to express for he did not understand the nature of their worries for him. He still loved them and Maggie knew that but it felt like he was slipping away from them with each passing day and not simply because he was growing up. She attempted to mitigate it by avoiding the subject she knew needed to be addressed but no matter what, he fell through the spaces of her fingers like sand on a gloomy beach. 

He wasn’t going to be very far from them and while that was comforting, Maggie knew him visiting as frequently as  _ she  _ would like was most likely out of the question. Richie was going into a new chapter of his life where his need for her and Went would slowly evaporate before their very eyes. He wasn’t going to make the drive back to their home every weekend. He wasn’t going to call her as much as she’d like. She would probably never see a note written in his shoddy penmanship giving her the details of how he was enjoying college thus far. He would be meeting new friends, joining clubs, and probably making choices he wouldn’t want to tell her about until he was well into his 30s. 

He was getting ready to permanently leave the nest and while that created a hole in her heart that she was definitely not ready to feel, she knew it was natural and something he deserved to do as he was slowly shaping his own life that would no longer require what he, as a young adult, was now perceiving to be excessive interference and not assistance or genuine care for his well being. She couldn’t hold him back for her own selfish desire to hang onto her son just a little longer and if anything she needed to nudge him forward and encourage him to do whatever made him happy.

This was easier said than done as she cried on an XL twin mattress in a stuffy dorm while Richie and Went focused on hanging up his clothes in a closet that they’d bleached the living hell out of as it smelled faintly of stale vomit for some peculiar reason. Maggie could not pretend she was surprised or confused. She’d been in college once. She knew the kind of shit that happened in freshman year dorms

Richie had to feel fortunate that his roommate was not scheduled to arrive for another day. Otherwise, he would have felt utterly mortified by his weepy mother that had already busted opened one of the tissue boxes they’d bought for him along with other essentials they knew he’d need to get through his first year—with the exception of the laundry detergent which Maggie had a sneaking suspicion would go unused since her son was not known for ever taking care of his own laundry. Richie was more likely to wear a shirt multiple times and completely ignore the odd smell that settled into the fibers of the fabric as opposed to doing a load in the wash. 

After crying her eyes an angry red, she decided to make herself useful and put his bed together for him. The bed, even with the topper, was incredibly uncomfortable and definitely not long enough for her son’s lanky frame. Maggie never understood why universities decided that twin beds were appropriate for upcoming adults—let alone bunk beds which should not even be a thought for anyone over twelve years of age. Richie had been lucky and was not placed in one of the halls that had bunk beds. That would most likely have resulted in him having to drop out for excessive head injuries as her son was dumb enough to want to choose the top bunk regardless of his height. 

She struggled briefly to get the fitted sheet over the overly firm mattress that would do his spine no favors and carefully tucked his sheets in a manner that they would definitely never go back to again once he spent one night in the bed. Hell, the bed would probably never be made again after tonight she thought to herself as she adjusted his new comforter and realigned his pillows. Richie didn’t have much in terms of decoration but apparently that was a more “feminine concern” to have anyway. Most college boys, according to Went, were content with stealing street signs to put upon their cinder block walls and shitty posters they would find at the bookstore during their first week of classes.

Maggie couldn’t imagine that Eddie or Stan would be content with this and probably had decorated their dorms with an abundance of posters and ornaments that were not off the streets or purchased impulsively along with an abundance of overpriced textbooks that would remain unopened for the entirety of the semester. But she elects to not mention this as she does not want to sour her son’s mood by reminding him that he has completely forgotten about the people that were vital to his development as a child. 

Between the three of them, they managed to get everything set up and had him ready to go with his first tuition payment finalized and a wad of cash secured in his wallet to use for textbooks and essentially anything he could not purchase with the meal plan they’d selected for him. They’d decided the highest level one was most ideal for despite his scrawny appearance, he was a bottomless pit. Also, they hoped it would encourage him to eat more substantial meals that were not designed for the tastes of a petulant toddler and hopefully pack some meat onto him. Went assured her it would as he himself, despite being a beanpole well into their marriage had admittedly filled out just slightly throughout college with the abundance of food that could be easily secured in the dining halls. 

“Looks like you’re all set, huh?” Went announces, placing his hands on his hips as he takes in the dorm. 

“I think so, yeah.” Richie agrees. 

Maggie can never be so certain. “Are you sure you have everything?” Richie groans. “Retainer? Spare glasses? Alarm clock Cash? Toiletries? Student ID? Car keys? Our numbers? Umbrella? Bookbag? Oh what el—”

“Yes, mom!” Richie snorts, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “I have everything and even if I don’t, you guys really aren’t that far away.” 

“Too far for me.” She sniffs, cupping his jaw in her hands. “You better call me more than once a month.” 

“I will.” He giggles with a roll of his eyes. 

“You be sure to take your classes seriously, alright? You managed to get by in high school without trying,” not that he probably remembered that, “but that doesn't mean you can get away with that here.”

“I know. I know.” He snorts, holding up his hands in defense. “You’ll take care of Eduardo?” 

“Of course we will even if he makes my eyes swell shut.” Richie rolls his eyes. “I’ll be sure to take great care of him as long as you take good care of yourself too.” Went says, pulling Maggie and Richie into one of his giant bear hugs. 

“I will.” Richie says with a feigned choke as Went squeezes him tightly. 

Maggie half sobs. “We’re going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you guys too.” Richie mumbles, swallowing thickly. “Thanks for helping me.”

“It’s no problem, Rich. We love you.” Went presses a kiss into his son’s curls. “You call if you need anything...even if it’s to bail your stupid ass outta jail.”

Richie chuckles wetly at that. “I will. Love you.” 

“Bye sweetie.” Maggie whimpers. “We love you so much.” 

Richie walks them out of the building, waving their car off until they can no longer see his shrinking form in the rearview mirror. If the mistiness in his eyes was an indication, he has most likely returned to his dorm to cry silently while the two of them barely manage to keep it together for their drive home which while short feels excessively long with each mile they create between them and their son. She knows he’s going to do amazing things and that he really isn’t as far as most kids go from their parents but leaving him there just feels wrong and like a piece of her has been wrenched away. 

She’ll see him again. She knows that. It won’t be soon enough for her liking but he’ll be home for Thanksgiving at the very latest, with new ideologies and a belief that he is superiorly intelligent as most college freshmen tend to believe right up until they are faced with their first finals week and realize they do not know nearly as much as they previously thought. It would be peculiar without his presence or hearing his slightly nasally voice cracking a joke but she knew he would be there doing a few questionable things as all college kids did, but ultimately, would be shaping himself into someone even more special than she knew he was now.

xXx

**October 1994**

Maggie was proven wrong in that she was convinced she would rarely hear from her son seeing as he would be too immersed with new friends that would be occupying all of his attention with socializing and studying—or at least he  _ should  _ be. He managed to call her on the phone they’d hooked up for him every single day  _ multiple  _ times and oftentimes there was little substance to what he was saying and he often just told her about something as miniscule as the squirrel he saw attempting to suffocate itself with the snack bag it’d found in a trashcan or more often than not, he was simply inquiring as to what she was doing (and if his father could not come to the phone, what he was doing). 

Initially, this frequent contact was absolutely euphoric to her. It brightened her day a significant amount to hear her son’s voice on the other end of the phone going on about what he was learning in his lectures. She could envision him sitting in a wildly uncomfortable position upon his shitty twin bed that only her boy would find bearable whilst twirling the cord around his long fingers and scrunching his nose before he chuckled at a lame joke she made in regards to the ridiculous amount of unpacking she and Went still had left over. He had no plans to come home anytime soon but just hearing him on the other end was enough to get her through the days without him by her side.

However, as the calls increased in frequency and dragged on in length even when he had nothing substantial to tell her and dodged questions regarding his friends and potential clubs, Maggie began to feel distressed for her son. She began listening closer to not just hear for her own sake but for  _ his.  _ His voice while cheery was very clearly empty and significantly slower than normal, as if all his energy was being used to move his mouth into the words she wanted to hear. At first she believed it was just a twisted part of her mind, perhaps a Sonia-like quality that niggled its way into her system, which made her convinced her son could not thrive without her at his side. This belief was quickly abolished when Went admitted that he noticed it too.

It could have easily been attributed to homesickness but Maggie knew it had to be more than just that. It wasn’t normal for their son to be calling them this much even if he was homesick. He should be utilizing his time to do other things like seeing friends, going to university sporting events and activities, and attempting to find a club or org to make the experience just a little less educational and a little more personable. Yeah, he was doing spectacular in all of his classes for the communications major he had very obviously  _ settled _ on but that was worthless to Maggie and Went if he was as unhappy as they were beginning to realize. 

She attempts to address the situation during their next call which comes not even a full two hours after his previous one. He tells her that his roommate has gone off to some fraternity party and as much as she hates to say it, she would rather him be doing something like that than holing himself up in his dorm.

“Honey, are you okay?” She asks, breaking him away from his drivel regarding the business lecture he has to take for his major which she knows has to be so spectacularly anti-Richie with the careful analysis and dull readings that accompany such classes. 

“What?” He laughs, startled. 

“Your dad and I have been worried.” She says, glancing up at Went who nods silently from his spot on the loveseat. 

“But I’m doing well in all of my classes?”

“I know that, sweetie. But you know college is supposed to be more than just going to class, right?”

“You’re paying for me to get an education, mom. Not to get drunk.” While most parents might appreciate such thoughts, Maggie knew that was very unlike her son. Normally, he’d crack a joke about getting hammered and getting arrested. It wasn’t that she wanted to see him doing such things, certainly not. But it would be nicer to see just a glimmer of the old wise-cracking Richie that always attempted to push her buttons. 

“I’m not saying to go get drunk, Richie. I’m saying you should be out with friends and joining clubs and going to football games. You should be making the most of this experience, baby.”

“I am.” He argues feebly. 

“Honey, I’m just not seeing that.”

“Well then I don’t know what to tell you!” He snaps, suddenly defensive. “I’m just trying to do well for  _ you guys  _ and that’s not enough! I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Richie, we’re just worried about you.”

“Why? I’m not even doing anything wrong.”

“Honey you don’t seem happy.”

“What? Of course I am.” He scoffs but the waver in his voice is all she needs. 

“Richie, if you want to come home for a weekend or so, that’s totally okay.”

“No. I don’t need to.” He grumps.

She looks over at Went and he pulls himself up, taking the phone from her. 

“Hey Rich.” He says, pausing to let their son speak. “Everything’s good here. Same as it was when you called when I got home today.” He teases but it’s half hearted in that he knows the calling has become excessive.

“Now I’m not trying to upset you, but I think your mom is right.” His shoulders slump and Maggie mouths  _ what  _ to him and Went simply shakes his head.

“We’re not trying to make you feel bad, Richie. We just worry about you sometimes. We want you to be happy and to not just go through the motions.”

He sighs. “Richie, we aren’t implying  _ that _ . We just think you’re struggling a bit and—okay, just because you’re doing well in classes doesn’t mean you can’t be struggling Richie.”

He rubs his hand across his face and although Maggie cannot really make out what Richie is saying she can hear the desperate fight in his voice as he attempts to convince his father that he is absolutely fine. 

“Hey, why don’t you come home on Friday after class?” He suggests and Maggie nearly preens at the prospect of finally seeing her son again. “Okay, I understand. We could come the— alright, alright, we won’t.” He sighs and Maggie’s shoulders drop as fast as they’d risen.

“Rich, don’t be mad. We love hearing from you, we really do. We miss you like crazy over here but we think you should be talking to people that aren’t us.” Went starts. “Richie no do— _ Dammit! _ ” Went huffs, slamming the phone on the base. 

Maggie looks up at her husband nervously. 

“He got mad and hung up.” Went informs her. He weaves his fingers through his hair with a groan. “I wasn’t trying to make him feel bad.”

“I know. I was here.” She says, pulling him down next to her. She begins kneading between his tense shoulders, a slow breath passing his lips and expanding his chest and belly ever so slightly as he melts into her warm touch. “Maybe we  _ should  _ still go up and see him.” She suggests.

“I think right now that’s not the best idea.” Went sighs. “He’s mad and I don’t want him to think we’re being overbearing or doubting him.”

She hums in agreement. “I know. I just worry about him and I know he’s capable but he’s… he’s hurting, Went.”

“I can tell.” Her husband mumbles. “We can’t just bombard him though. He needs to  _ want  _ us there or we’re just going to set him off. Richie’s always been like that. If you try to help him when he doesn’t want it, you’re either going to create an absolute meltdown.” He sighs. “It’s just gotten worse since we left Derry.”

“I’m sorry.” Maggie whispers, guilt surging through her chest.

“No, none of that stupid guilt complex, Mags.” Went scolds, turning to face her. “You were right. We needed to get out of there. Richie was at risk in that town. We just need to figure out what to do for him without making him feel like we don’t trust him.”

She nods in agreement. “Yeah. Thanksgiving break is only a month away.” She realizes aloud. “He’ll be home soon enough.”

xXx

**November 1994**

Upon seeing her son get out of his truck she realized it was not soon enough. It takes all of her strength to not let her face fall as she takes in her son’s wan appearance. His tired eyes are visibly sunk into hollowed cheeks which have not been flushed or befreckled with the California sun as her and Went’s have been. His sweatshirt, the first UCLA item she purchased for him that had fit him like a glove when they first bought it is now swimming on his near skeletal frame. His shoulders are hunched tiredly as he carries his backpack and duffle toward the porch where she stands with a weak smile. 

“Hi baby.” She greets, pulling him into a hug nearly gasping as she feels the sharp curve vertebrae of his spine. No college student is supposed to lose weight like this after their first semester. They should return with a healthier glow and jeans that need replaced as a result of too many midnight snacking sessions with  _ friends _ but Richie hasn’t got any of those—not that he’ll admit that. And even then, her son should not appear this ill and emaciated. 

“Hi, mom.” He says, a tired smile creeping up his pasty face. “ ‘S good to see you. Dad home?”

“Not yet.” She cups his face. “Let’s get some dinner in you. I’m making spaghetti.”

He swallows thickly at that, nauseated. “I’m not hungry. I kinda wanna lay down. I’m really tired.” 

“Okay.” Her voice is slow. “Get some rest, baby.”

“I will.” He walks in, scoops up his cat and then heads up the stairs and shuts the door, the faint creak of aged springs reaching her ears as tears begin to roll down her cheeks. He’s doing worse off than she had imagined. She returns to the kitchen, resuming her late mother’s recipe as her shoulders shake with silent sobs as images of her sickly son burn in her mind. 

She’s finishing off the dish when her husband enters, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“Hey good looking! I saw Richie’s tru— what’s wrong, Mags?” Went’s brow furrows. 

“It’s Richie.” She tells him. “He looked awful and he went straight up to bed the minute he got home. He’s just so… sad looking.”

Went frowns, the newer lines in his face deepening with the distraught expression. “Let me get him down here for dinner, okay?”

“Okay.” She mumbles, composing herself as she dishes out an extremely hearty serving for her son. 

Went returns with a groggy Richie in tow, the same concern Maggie feels clear across her husband’s face. “I got our sleeping beauty.” He manages to joke, though it doesn’t hit the same as it would, had their son been in a physically and mentally better state. 

“Hi there, sweetie.” She says, pushing the plate closer to him as he sits down. “We’ve missed you a great deal, hon.” 

“Missed you guys, too.” He sips at the juice box she’s set out for him but makes no move to start in on his food. 

She begins twirling her noodles around her fork, giving Went an uneasy glance to prompt him to take the conversation somewhere that will help them get their boy to open up without any severe confrontation at the table. 

“So, I take it you're not using our meal plan.” Went states bluntly and Maggie could just about chuck the Texas Toast at his head.

“What?” Richie narrows his eyes from behind glasses that look like they’ve not been cleaned in months. 

“What your father means is that we think you look a little peaky, honey.” Maggie attempts to neutralize the tension. 

“I’ve just been stressed.” Richie shrugs,  _ finally  _ taking a bite of his pasta.

“You been eating, okay?” Maggie inquires. 

Richie shrugs. “Probably not enough. I just get busy.”

“We just want you to take care of yourself, Rich.” Went redeems himself from the previous accusation with a gentler tone. “You’re not looking as handsome as your old man, you see.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “I am.” He responds in a defeated voice. “I mean I’m trying to.” 

“That’s all we ask.” Maggie tells him gently. “We care about you.”

Richie offers a weak smile before silently finishing his dinner. Normally, Richie would share silly and often crude anecdotes at the table but he remains silent and manages to finish about half of his serving which Maggie is grateful for seeing as she did give him what most would consider to be far too much. He heads up to bed not long after despite their insistence that he watch a movie with them claiming to still be wiped from whatever projects he’d been assigned before the start of Thanksgiving break. 

Things don’t begin to look up as the feasting holiday approaches meaning that Richie has to return to school soon and what? Resume whatever unhealthy behaviors he’s engaged in since going off to school? Sure, he’s perked up some since coming home and Maggie is certain she’s managed to pack a solid five pounds on him since he’s returned home if the reduction in the harsh lines of his jaw and cheeks are anything to go by but the empty look in his once dazzling eyes remains. He rarely leaves his bed to do anything except feed Eduardo and go to the bathroom. All their attempts to drag him out of the house have been dismissed with excuses of stomach aches, headaches, and the perpetual tiredness that Maggie actually believes to be psychosomatic in nature and not brought on by some mysterious ailment her son caught from being stuck in closed quarters. How could he catch anything from anyone when he only ever left his room to go to class? 

Maggie knows there is nothing good to come out of her allowing him to indulge whatever demon is weighing down on his shoulders. All that’s going to happen is he is going to return to school and stop taking care of himself again when he’s only managed to recover a meager amount and return home to her looking even more pathetic than he did when he came home on Friday evening or he’s going to end up collapsing under the physical toll. 

“Richie, we need to talk.” Maggie says not unkindly nor too accusatively when he emerges from his bedroom late in the afternoon for the first time since the night prior. It’s a day before Thanksgiving and normally her son might help in the preparation for the upcoming meal by simply disrupting their attempts to get some of the food made for neither of them exactly wanted his useless contributions but cherished his pilgrim impersonations and pranks typically pulled on Went more often than herself. But instead he’d isolated himself all day in his bedroom and made no attempts to thwart Went’s homemade apple pie crust. 

He tenses slightly but remains in the kitchen, seating himself at the table where she prepares a sweet potato casserole. 

“Okay.” He starts.

“Your mom and I have expressed our concerns for you multiple times, only to be shut down but we aren’t doing this because we doubt you or think you’re not good enough or whatever the hell your brain is trying to tell you we’re doing.” Went says, rubbing floury hands on a faded floral apron Maggie has had since before Richie was even a thought. 

Eyes downcast, their son shrinks on himself. He says nothing. For once, he seems to understand where they’re coming from and is willing to listen to them rather than shut them out in some twisted form of self preservation. 

“Richie we know you’re doing good in school and we are so incredibly proud of that.” Maggie begins. “But we both went to college and we had the time of our lives while still maintaining decent GPAs and getting to all of— _ most of  _ our classes. You are doing great but you’re not rounding yourself out by just isolating yourself in your room all day and doing homework and calling us three times a day.”

Richie opens his mouth to speak but Went continues her spiel for her before he can utter a single word. “And we love hearing from you, bud. We really do. We were scared you were going to forget about us and never call us again because you’d be having too much fun.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Richie mumbles softly. “I love you guys.”

“We know that, Rich but if you weren’t talking to us because you were too busy having the time of your life, it would be understandable. But now? You’re only calling us because you have nothing better to do.”

Richie audibly swallows over a lump over his throat and visibly shudders. His voice is quiet and croaky, suggesting that he’s doing everything to prevent himself from breaking down right there. “I’m not… I do care about you guys and it’s not just… I don’t have anyone else.” He admits.

“We know and we know college can be scary but Richie you,” Maggie sighs knowing this is going to make him uncomfortable, “You have always made friends so easily.” He wriggles awkwardly at that, physically expressing his discontent at the reference back toward a life he does not remember. “You’re a likable person Richie. You just need to put yourself out there and make friends and try to enjoy this experience. You can’t just exist in a tiny ass dorm doing nothing.”

“It’s just hard.” Richie admits, sniffling. “I’m tired all the time. I really am. I just don’t want to get out of bed. I go to class, yeah—but only because I’m too scared to  _ not  _ go. My roommate used to try and get me to go get lunch with his friends and party with him but I just don’t ever have the energy to do it. Everything just feels shitty and all I want is to be alone or talk to you guys.” 

Went sighs, “Richie, I think you’re depressed.”

“I don’t feel sad, though.” Richie defends.

“Depression is more than just being sad, Richie.” Maggie explains. “It can be physical pain, exhaustion, lack of motivation, and a lot of other things. It makes sense for you to have it; you’ve always had anxiety and this can go hand in hand with it.”

Richie shrugs but says nothing.

“When did you start feeling this bad, Rich?” Went asks.

Richie shrugs, unable to meet their eyes for he is plagued with undue shame. “I dunno. It wasn’t right away. It just kinda was there one day. I  _ did  _ hang out with some floormates the first few days. I really did. We went to a soccer game. I did go to a party during Sylly Week. I even went to this campus circus thing on the main lawn and after that, I just felt like shit and I have ever since.” 

“Did something happen there?”

“No.” Richie says. “I was just petting some of the animals, watching some of the acts they had, and this clown dude made balloon animals for me and the guys I was with. Nothing else happened. I decided to go home and then I just went to bed and felt like I couldn’t get up ever since.”

“Okay and after that you just felt like this?” 

Richie nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Honey, don’t be sorry.” Maggie says, getting up and pulling him into her arms. He’d normally protest it but the fight has left his body along with everything else that used to make her son who he once was. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I think this is just a big change for you and it can be emotionally tolling.”

Richie nods wordlessly, choking around a sob. “I don’t want to be like this. I want to have fun and make you guys happy.”

Went squats down in front of her and Richie, lifting his son’s chin so his eyes must meet his. “It’s not about making  _ us  _ happy. We want you to be happy. That’ll mean the world to us.” 

“I hate my major.” Richie admits suddenly. “It’s just so fucking boring and I know there’s a lot of ‘cool’ jobs I can get with it but I don’t like the idea of pursuing any of those longterm.” 

Maggie cannot help the laugh that escapes her lips. “You can change your major, sweetie. You know, most of the time your major doesn’t directly impact your future career path unless you’re doing something STEM based. But if you’re that miserable in this field, you don’t have to do it.”

“I just feel like it makes me a quitter.” Richie mutters.

“Not at all.” Went quickly reassures. “It takes a lot to decide what you want to do and deciding something  _ isn’t  _ right for you is a great step, Richie.” 

“I don’t know what I want to do, though.” Richie sighs. 

“That’s okay. Richie, you’re a freshman. You can be undecided for now. An undecided major isn’t an undecided life. You’ll fall into your niche. I know you will. There is no rush. If you need to stay in college till you’re thirty, that’s okay.”

“Uh I don’t thin—” Went begins and immediately snaps his jaw shut at the icy glare Maggie sends his way. “Yeah, you have  _ all  _ the time in the world.” 

Richie rubs at his eyes, his glasses bobbling atop of his sleeve covered fist. “I’m sorry for being a baby.”

“No.” Maggie says again. “There’s nothing wrong with being upset, Richie.”

“You’re going through a lot. You can’t apologize for that.” Went tells him. “What you  _ can  _ do is work on getting better not for us but for yourself.” Richie nods slowly. “Maybe we can start up therapy.”

Richie shakes his head and Maggie cannot say she’s shocked in the slightest. As someone that has already went to therapy to mend an issue that that he could not even make sense of, the concept of therapy had to put a bitter taste in the mouth and while this was genuinely upsetting as Richie could surely benefit from therapy addressing  _ these  _ current issues, it was likely going to be a battle or a mere pipedream in getting him to go.

“Would you at least consider going once or twice to a campus counselor?” Maggie asks him, moving her nails through his scalp which quickly turns him into putty at the touch. 

Richie’s shoulders bounce in a shrug. 

“Your mom is right. You don’t have to bring up your previous sessions, Rich. It might be a good way for some guidance in regards to your major, making friends, and adjusting to college.  _ None  _ of this has to pertain to why we took you to therapy before college. The campus ones are there for kids that aren’t adjusting well to college life and that might be just what you need.”

“What if that’s not enough and I still feel like this?” He inquires fearfully. 

“You can always take a semester off of school, Richie.” Maggie suggests. “If now or by Christmas break you still aren’t feeling well, we can work something out so you can return in the fall and take the spring to work on getting better at home without the stress of school.”

“I don’t want to do that.” Richie shakes his head. “I want to figure out school and know what I want.”

“You’ve always been artistic, you know.” She tells him and he scoffs. “No, no. You considered art stuff when we were back…” Richie’s face sours. “on the East coast.” She finishes and this seems to unsettle him less than referring to their hometown by name. 

A step in the right direction. “UCLA has a phenomenal arts program, Rich. You don’t need to settle for some hard fact, statistical, business-based major that you will never enjoy. We went over this before and I’m going to repeat myself again and tell you that you have the ability to make your hobbies a career and if you don’t want to, just stop focusing on the major right now, okay? Find a club or an organization next semester for you to explore that creative side you have and to distract yourself from regular school, and use it to  _ make some friends. _ ” 

Richie snorts. 

“Seriously, Rich.” Went says. “College is tough and doing it alone? That’s unbearable and it’s no wonder you’re so miserable. Just focus on your Gen Eds for now and put your energy into finding something you like.”

Richie nods quietly, “I can do that but what if I still feel like shit or I’m still all alone or—” He stammers off, breath tight as he tears his fingers through his hair.

Maggie gently pulls his hands away from his head, laying them in his lap. “We will figure it out, okay? If you decide you can’t handle this right now, we take a break. It’s no big deal and maybe that seems shitty to you now, but it might be at your best interest and no matter what we do, it’s going to work itself out.”

Went nods in agreement. “You can’t keep living like this, Rich. You can’t just be miserable and alone all the time. You’re too loud and obnoxious to be like that.”

“Thanks, dad.” Richie huffs.

“In the best way… like  _ me! _ ”

“Oh God, then no one is gonna like me.” Richie gasps in mock horror, a laugh bubbling up his chest. 

“You think you can do that?” Maggie asks. “See the counselor, drop your major, finish your classes,  _ leave  _ your room?” 

Richie chuckles but it still fails to reach his sad eyes. He nods. “I think I can. I’ll work something out and stop annoying you two with my phone calls.”

“Uh-uh!” Maggie snaps, pulling him into an aggressive hug, eliciting a squawk from her boy. “I don’t care if you make all the friends in the world, you better be calling me at least once a week to tell me about UCLA’s suicidal squirrels and all the bo—dates you go on.”

Richie snickers at that, shaking his head. “That’s an overshot, mom.”

“Maybe so.” She hums. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I know.” He says. “I want to be too. I’ll try.”

“It’s all we ask.” Went responds kindly.

It is all they can do right now. They can hold him in the comfort of their home and give him advice as to how he can seek out a relief from the depression that has weighed mentally and physically on her son for too long. But they can’t hold his hand throughout college (even if a piece of her longs to) and make all of his decisions for him. He needs to develop a semblance of independence and attempt to figure things out for himself and find out who he wants to be and while that is a daunting task for a parent to watch their child take on, she knows it has to be done. It could be easier if her son was  _ fully  _ there but he’s not. 

Her son lost a piece of himself when he lost his memories. All the strength he’d found in himself with the aid of the Losers and by simply existing in a town that forbade his existence and forced him to develop a courage he would have otherwise never  _ had  _ to make for himself had disappeared. By having someone like Eddie Kaspbrak at his side just months ago, Richie had settled into a state where he was so eager to take on his future but now Eddie was merely a nickname for their lazy housecat and all the confidence the other boy instilled in her son was eradicated.

Eddie was gone from his memories and with that, the Richie she knew was gone too. Maybe nothing will bring the memories back or the qualities that made Richie so intrinsically  _ Richie.  _ She had to accept that and only hope her son would find some version of himself in that muddled brain of his and attempt to seek out a future that manifested itself into something resembling the same joy he’d had when he was surrounded by his Losers.

Maggie wasn’t certain if that was possible anymore but she had to believe for her son. Maggie wanted to be optimistic. She  _ did _ fully believe that her son would fall into something he enjoyed and become something he himself could be proud of; however she was not certain if even then he would find genuine happiness or resolve this sudden amnesia-induced identity crisis. For the first time, Maggie really did not know what to do about her son or how to really help him and that was terrifying to her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the comments last time made me cry ya'll give me too much credit. I hURT WITH KINDNESS. be my friend.
> 
> It was really complicated to write about therapy (even though it was extremely brief) in a light where someone was going because they were insisting they were straight and nothing else but needed to be seen because clearly they weren't heterosexual???? As a recovering Catholic, I know damn well that shit doesn't happen often so that was extremely complicated to execute. I am not diminishing the purpose of therapy here or belittling the appalling behavior that is conversion therapy! It's sick and if you've ever been subject to that or suspect your therapist is engaging in such behaviors... they are NOT right for you. Ya deserve a therapist you can be honest with. 
> 
> Also I know Richie is bi-coded in the books but as I've said before my only exposure is the films where he's more gay-coded from what I could detect. I really didn't know this until I started this so this isn't me trying to commit Bi erasure (am bi and wasn't aware of this fact in the books which I don't plan on reading tbh sorry) but I am writing him as gay because I've been doing that since the very start and how I perceive his film characterization. I'm sorry! 
> 
> i'm sorry if me apologizing for stuff is excessive. I'm dreadfully afraid of not conveying something right because I really am awful at expressing feelings and thoughts (not a good thing for someone that is attempting to write) bc am wildly uneducated and I don't want anyone to think I withhold shitty beliefs or think less of people.
> 
> I hope this is a good segue into the spiral that is to come bc Richie be having an identity crisis and is a sad fuck. I know this chapter is subpar at best which is frustrating but like the way sharks needs to keep swimming to stay alive, I need to keep posting in order to not abandon a story so I had to muddle this through in a sleepless fit of frustration and self doubt. wahoo.
> 
> The pacing here is really difficult to figure out which is going to be resulting in some odd chapter lengths/endings and I apologize for that. I really don't know what I'm doing here and I'm literally making myself sick as I think of posting the next few bc I get just really antsy and almost mortified at the idea of people reading work I'm not satisfied with? I am the anxious. I am working on it. I could make potential edits to this chapter and if I do I will be sure to mention that in a future A/N.
> 
> I've had all of this planned since January and it's the execution that is truly concerning me. I want to do this story justice and to make it enjoyable. I hope I've done that thus far and will do it for the entirety of Part IV!!! If not? FUCK. I'm honestly just waiting for the first comment of "this sucks" to come my way and for me to be like ahah shit because IM SENSITIVE AUBREY. 
> 
> plz understand that reference. 
> 
> I hope this doesn't start to get boring for ya noodles and I hope you continue to enjoy it if you have been! Also, despite the circumstances of the world, I hope you're all having a good start to your summer (if it's begun for you) If ya comment, tell me something positive you thought/did/happened to you. i cut my mermaid hair (hair longer than my nonexistent tiddies) off and am now back to chin length hair. i am VIBING. i forget how to shampoo-conditioner ratios though. 
> 
> Richie and Eddie got their hair cut today because salons have opened. Richie had enough hair cut off to make a dog probably and wanted to keep it long until Eddie said he looked stupid. Eddie is back to looking like a "sexy real estate agent" (Richie's words not mine). They were sure to wear their masks in the building the whole time.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my mental health is shot but despite this fic enhancing my insecurities bc self doubt, it's my only source of minimal sanity so here we are and here's a chapter written whilst SAD AS FUCK and sleep deprived and is definitely a filler chapter filled with errors I am CERTAIN. oops.
> 
> but frfrfr not a lot happens in this one and I apologize for that? It feels like it needs written by my ass but if you wanna just wait till more eventful content, you good bro.
> 
> also i just realized at this point in the fic, all my siblings are already born. so like that's kinda cool to examine in real time. 
> 
> TW: Discussions of depression and hinted substance abuse; you cant lose all your memories bc of a clown and remain mentally unscathed. sorry.

Maggie knew Richie thought he was happy but it wouldn’t be enough; a spiral was inevitable.

**February 1995**

After further contemplation after Thanksgiving and well into Christmas break, Richie does decide he is ready to go back to school for the second semester of his freshman year. Maggie isn’t sure if it’s the right choice even if he does report having made initiative in social interaction following their rather tearful discussion back in November. She relented and allowed him to return with an undeclared major and a drive to enroll himself in a club or org that would potentially spawn the relationships, both intimate and not, that Maggie believes all college kids should develop whilst attending their respective universities. In her college days, she’d been part of a service sorority that frequently partnered with an on-campus fraternity that a prospective dentist had belonged to. It was safe to say, in her opinion, that school involvement truly could create everlasting bonds.

She wanted this to be the case for Richie even if it felt vaguely wrong to her—he already had that bond with six childhood friends whom he’d spent _years_ opening up to. But he no longer knew them. That was history now and she had to accept that and only hoped for him to find genuine happiness in the form of some new faces wandering around his campus. She wanted to believe it possible but a niggling in her chest created intense doubt for her son’s current and impending mental health. She wanted to be wrong. She did. 

Maybe she was wrong, she decides once the frequency of his calls takes a steep decline in comparison to the near-hourly ones he made during the first semester. He still called them often which was not a surprise for Richie, despite not admitting it himself, was a total mama’s boy and couldn’t go a single day without enthusiastically telling Maggie about his day. _That_ was a change. His voice and the feeling behind it. He sounded more alive over the phone and almost mimicked the Derry version of himself that had an abundance of untapped energy that allowed him to live vibrantly and excitedly with no signs of stopping. 

Over the first month of this new semester, which for Richie was a fresh start, he managed to do a complete 180 of what Maggie had seen just months prior. He had friends. Actual friends that made him hang up the phone abruptly because one of them was pounding on his door and demanding he come out to dinner with them. Friends he managed to secure in the few short weeks of this new semester by simply leaving his room and opening up as much as he, with his tendency to put up barriers, truly could. Most of them were made as a result of him deciding to sign up for UCLA’s Improv Club during the second semester Involvement Fair. 

To Richie’s surprise, with his lack of memory in his ability to make the Losers laugh their sides sore, he was one of the favorites in the organization with his ability to master impressions and alter his voice to create a multitude of personas that had the crowd roaring with laughter in the small shows his club put up every other weekend. Maggie nearly reminded him of his ability to captivate audiences with his stellar acting abilities back in high school, but refrained from bringing up memories that were seemingly eradicated from her son’s memory. Instead, she made a suggestion that he consider becoming a Theatre major during their most recent phone call.

“A Theatre major?” He asks slowly. She can easily visualize the look of consternation on his face.

“Yeah.” She says with a shrug, looking over at Went who nods in agreement.

“I thought you were supposed to tell me to do something practical.” Richie snorts. “My friend Jessica is a Theatre major and her parents are insistent that she’s just gonna starve and live off their money forever.”

“You’re smart. You’ll know how to use it and a major _is_ practical if it utilizes your skills and makes _you_ happy.” Maggie thinks for a second. “And if for some reason you end up a poor, starving artist, your dad and I weren’t exactly stupid with money. We can help you out.” 

“ _What_ can you even do with a Theatre major?” Richie asks lightly.

“A lot.” Maggie shrugs, moving the phone so the cord can stretch enough where she can lay across her husband’s thighs. He sighs something filled with admiration as he moves his fingers through her hair. He smells of mint and antiseptic. “You can act, write, direct, or produce—is there really a difference in those two?”

“God mom,” Richie groans. “ _Yes!”_ He starts rambling off on the differences of the two careers and she cannot help but snort with laughter as his voice rises with frustration at her ignorance. 

“I’m sorry, Rich. I just didn’t know.” 

“How did you get this far in life without knowing. _Jesus._ ”

“Well you seem to know a lot about the industry, so maybe that major would be a good idea for you.” She thinks for a second before adding, “No rush. Take your time deciding.”

“I might.” He hums. “I’ll try to decide before next year. I just wanna do anything that doesn’t feel like it was invented before fun… you know like a dentist.” 

She cackles at that and Went shoots daggers at her having heard his son’s voice over the phone. 

“Tell that soul sucking bastard that my career is plenty fun. I get to cause pain to people that are little shits, like _him._ ” 

Maggie relays the message and Richie says, “That’s not fun. That’s just sadistic.” 

“I can’t wait to drill that fucker’s teeth.” Went huffs. 

Richie giggles loud and Maggie smiles at the sound. “Your dad isn’t very happy with you now.”

“Tell father dearest that I love him and I’ll call him tomorrow. I have an exam that I need to study for.”

“Alright,” Maggie shakes her head. “Love you, sweetie. You’ll do just fine.”

“Oh, there’s no question about that.” Richie teases. “Love you too, Magma—oh that’s a _good_ one. Tell dad! Love you!”

With the dial tone, Maggie laughs and places the phone on the base. “Your son gave me a new nickname and thinks you’d appreciate it.”

“What is it?” Went grins.

“Magma.”

“Oh! I _do_ like that.” Went exclaims. “I’ll have to use that one too. Mags can only be used so much.”

She nudges him, narrowing her eyes. “I happen to like it, jackass.”

“I think _you_ need some new material. Asswipe and jackass can only last for so long, Magma.”

“Fuckface? Shithead?”

“You’ve definitely used those.”

“And deservedly so, Fucknut.”

“That’s a good one!” 

xXx

**March 1995**

Maggie never understood why colleges held their spring breaks in March—especially when she attended college in Maine and there was nothing “spring” about the snow that still covered the ground and the frigid temperatures that left her fingers stiff and her nose a bright red. It doesn’t bother her as much now that she isn’t a college student and that she lives in southern California and truly, the March weather is a prime time for her son to be off of school and spending time with her, Went, and Jason Rowley, a friend they told him that he could bring home for break since his flight to Ohio had been cancelled as a result of shitty Definitely-Not-Spring weather. 

He had apparently met Jason in the dining hall when they both had decided to go for breakfast by themselves for their own friend groups had both been far too hungover to even consider exposing their sensitive eyes to the meager morning sunlight or even attempt to swallow back even the lightest of breakfasts. Richie had been the “DD” the night prior and apparently Jason wasn’t one to really drink. Richie, being the social butterfly he always had been, didn’t feel comfortable eating all on his own now that he had finally exposed himself to the wonders of socialization. He had zeroed in on the lonesome freshman and sat himself in front of the boy he was now deeming as one of his best friends. The boy had apparently not been put off by Richie’s weird humor or goofy antics and Richie must have grown on him like some pesky fungus because now the young man was perfectly content in spending his spring break with her son’s family as opposed to finding some other route to his Ohio family.

He still had an abundance of other friends he’d made in his club and on his floor, but Maggie could tell that Jason was special to Richie. He seemed to fill the void the Losers had left behind with their move and subsequent memory loss. Not that Richie was aware that he had been missing something but with this new friend it was obvious there was something empty from his life and maybe, Jason was the answer to that.

Went wholeheartedly disagreed with such sentiments as he believed the Losers, specially Eddie Kaspbrak, were the only ones capable of making their son as “whole” as he’d been back in Derry. But he was willing to relent such beliefs if it meant his son was happy or at least appeared to be because regardless of the energy and newfound liveliness in his voice during their phone calls, Maggie always sensed that her son was definitely in a less than optimal state. She could not necessarily figure out what was wrong with him but no matter how much he raved about how well he was doing or how well he _seemed_ to be doing, something was not quite all there with her boy and she could not quite pinpoint it. 

Until then, she had to continue being as observant as she’d been since the day he was born, get the house ready for their guest, and hope that she was wrong (she knew she wasn’t). 

Richie would not be home until later in the evening for he had to take an exam just before leaving. That was something that had not changed since her college days: College professors continuing to schedule hefty amounts of work up until the very last minute so the first breath of freedom would not be one of bliss, but a painful wheeze as one crossed the finish line of deadlines and stress. Week long breaks were rarely used for vacationing and were more often a way for one to recuperate after the stress brought on by the first half of a semester and that was precisely what Richie wanted as he’d said during the days leading up toward the start of break as he was bombarded with an excessive amount of work. Maggie was content with that. She really did not feel like planning some vacation for their family right now lest her son forget _their_ existence if they were to take him out of the country or just anywhere beyond their backyard.

Once Went came home, the two of them prepared the guest bed for Jason and made the house just a little more tidy. There wasn’t much to clean up seeing as their bull of a son was no longer a constant inhabitant of their residence which resulted in less dirty dishes and a decline in the amount of glass broken with his lack of spatial awareness and gangly limbs. They didn’t know a whole lot about the young man for anytime Richie started talking about him, he’d quickly shift the conversation elsewhere and refrain from unveiling too much about his friend. It gave Maggie complete deja vu but she decided not to comment on it too much.

However, she wanted nothing more than to have an hour long analytical conversation with her husband about the subject the moment she was met face to face with Jason, who could only be described as an Eddie Kaspbrak doppelganger. 

Maggie and Went are clad in their pajamas, sipping on tea having already had dinner since Richie told her that he and Jason were going to a diner just off campus. Her son enters the house, bags sloping off his arms and Maggie is immediately relaxed by his appearance. While his eyes are tired behind his glasses as any college kids often are, his cheeks are less hollowed and he has definitely exposed himself to the California sun if the smattering of freckles and the redness to his shoulders is any evidence. His hair has grown out and while Maggie prefers his long hair, she decides she’ll have to bust out the scissors and trim the edges just slightly for he is truly starting to look like a scruffy surfer boy—which he certainly can never be given his lack of balance when it comes to anything not pertaining to dances designed for some production. 

“Hey!” He greets a smile bright on his face. His teeth are slightly twisted, indicative that he has probably not worn his retainer in a long time. Went will have his own conniptions about that later; she is certain. 

“Hi sweetie!” She greets from the couch. She takes a sip from her mug and her eyes narrow on a hickey that is poorly covered by his overgrown curls and she is about to tease him for such but finds herself choking on her tea the minute Jason walks through their front door. 

Jason is a good head shorter than her son and his physique is best described as compact; stocky perhaps. His skin clearly tans better than Richie’s as it has darkened into an olive that is definitely not his normal skin tone for she can see the normal pallor of his skin due to his very obvious sock tan. His chestnut hair is neatly combed in a neat part with a few stray curls resting upon his forehead. Jason has a slightly fuller face but it is clear that it’ll shape itself out with the evaporation of baby fat that seems to desperately cling onto his cheekbones—much like the young man her son once knew and loved. She wonders if the boy before her too has a recovering aversion to all things deemed unhealthy or dangerous by a toxic mother.

“Hi, I’m Jason.” He introduces himself and even his voice is similar to Eddie’s. “Thank you for letting me stay here, Mr. and Mrs. Tozier.”

“It’s no problem at all.” Went assures, giving him a firm handshake that is followed by Maggie’s softer one. She glances at her husband and he gives her a look. He sees it too. 

“It’s nice to meet you sweetheart.” Maggie says. “We have a bed set up for you just across from Richie’s room.”

He looks surprised for a moment before saying, “Oh, okay! Thanks!” Just before he and Richie head up the stairs, Jason cocks his eyebrow and looks at her son for a moment but Richie quickly shakes his head. 

At the sound of two doors shutting, Maggie whips around to Went and despite knowing the answer she asks, “You saw what I saw, right?”

“Oh, yeah. One-hundred percent.” Went responds, nodding rapidly. “Are we sure his name was Jason?”

“Yeah. I mean he doesn’t look _exactly_ like Eddie.”

“In what universe?” Went scoffs. “That kid was Eddie Kaspbrak and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

“I think his eyes were hazel.” Maggie considers, nodding upstairs.

“And hazel is _that_ different from brown?” 

“It is!” She argues. 

“That’s just something brown eyed people say to make themselves feel better.”

“You have brown eyes.” Maggie points out.

“Exactly. My license says hazel. I wanted to feel less like a boring brown eyed bastard.”

“I like them.” She huffs. “Not that it matters. I mean it _isn’t_ Eddie but it just…”

“It can’t be a coincidence that his best friend is a complete clone of the kid.” Went says. “He clearly has a type.”

“I mean we can’t say anything.” Maggie decides. “It’ll just piss him off.” 

“I can’t ask the kid where he’s from?” Her husband questions, arms crossing over his chest.

“He’s from Ohio.”

“So he says.”

“Went, don’t be a jackass.” 

“Yeah, Went. Don’t be a jackass.” Richie snickers as he and Jason make their way down the stairs. “How are you lot doing without me ‘round?”

“House has smelled significantly better in your absence.” Went chortles. 

Jason laughs at that. “His dorm smells pretty grody most of the time.”

“Hey!” Richie yipes defiantly. “This isn’t a rag-on-Richard party.”

“Alright, Dick.” Went wraps his arm around their son’s neck pulling him into an aggressively big bear hug before allowing him to stumble clumsily backward. “So Jason, where are you from?”

“Uh Ohio. Just south of Columbus.” 

“Any family in Maine?” Maggie narrows his eyes at him and Richie takes on a faintly ill appearance as his sun-kissed cheeks morph into a wan grey. His arms wrap around his middle and he seems to be focusing on breathing through his nose at the mention of the northeastern state. 

“Not that I know of, no.” Jason shrugs. “Most of us are just in Ohio except me right now, I guess.” 

Went nods and opens his mouth to quite possibly ask more pressing questions that will somehow fuel his hypothesis that Jason is somehow an Eddie Kaspbrak clone or at the very least, an extremely distant cousin. But Maggie knows that furthering the topic will just have Richie sick in the bathroom or worse, royally pissed at the two of them for the rest of the week so she elects to step in.

“So Richie says you’re a Bio major!” Richie grumbles about needing water, turning into the kitchen. “Bring your friend one, too.”

“Yeah.” He says with a nod. “I’m not exactly sure what I wanna do.”

“Health nut?” Went asks.

“Maybe a little? I mean more than Richie.” He snorts. 

“Oh that’s not saying much.” Maggie snickers as Richie returns with two bottles in hand, his own nearly drained. 

“Again, can we not bully me? I just took like four exams this week.” Richie whines, draping his long body across the couch. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” She coos at him, mussing her hands through his shaggy locks. “I will say, however, I _am_ taking care of this mess this week.”

“Oh good!” Jason squeals, sitting stiffly on the couch in the manner that all people do when they are a new guest at anyone’s house. “I’ve told him to go for ages now!”

Richie groans, moving his glasses off his face so he can drop his arm across his face. 

“Don’t be such a baby.” Jason teases.

Went raises a brow at Maggie and mouths _‘see!’_ at her but she just shoots daggers as he is not nearly as inconspicuous in his suspicions of their son as he may like to think he is. 

xXx

They spend most of the week-long break turning a blind eye at the glaring similarities between Jason and the forgotten Eddie Kaspbrak. However, Went nearly lost his shit during dinner one evening when Jason was enthusiastically explaining something and went to scold Richie who kept interrupting him with an exaggerated hand swipe. 

Although the dynamics between Jason and Richie suggest something a little more friendly than Richie lets on with Jason’s near offended expression whenever he’s referred to as a friend and the fact that the bed Jason was meant to sleep in has remained fully made the entire time, Maggie has been more focused on something else about her son. He appears to be extremely happy and she had doubts about the authenticity in it but that was something she wanted desperately to attribute to her tendency to suspect the worst in all situations. Unfortunately, more often than not, Maggie was almost always right when it came to her boy. 

He was not as happy as he let on and it was so masterly masked that she wasn’t even sure Went had fully caught on until she voiced her concerns about his body language to him in bed on Richie’s final night home. Sure, he looked physically better than he had over Thanksgiving break and over Christmas break. But there was still something off about him and it was different and potentially more haunting than what she saw back then but she really could not figure the root cause of this one just yet. A big portion of it, she knew had to be his unnecessary insistence on covering up whatever was going on between him and Jason. He knew they would accept them as they had attempted to convince him for nearly a month that he was in a relationship with someone he didn’t remember but he felt that what remained inside of him, what he visibly wished wasn’t, was a secret he, as Stan Uris once indirectly vocalized to him, felt he needed to keep.

He smiled too wide and it was clearly cracking at the edges. Anytime he laughed, it was too long and sometimes it was his usual honking chuckle but lately, she found it was one that lacked the same jovial childlike hysteria behind it. His eyes were still dull and still void of the fire they once held. He seemed antsier than normal and would roll his neck in discomfort and his hands were almost always twisted together as he fidgeted uneasily. He seemed strung out, stressed. Sure, all college kids pushed to their mental and physical limits, but there was something off about him that did not quite fill the description of your averagely overwhelmed student in Maggie’s eyes. 

For the most part, she attempted to skirt the issue throughout his visit, hoping what she saw was merely in her head and nothing to fret over. Something in her hindbrain nagged her to speak up but of course, she ended up waiting until Richie and Jason were packing up his truck and getting ready to head back to UCLA.

“Hey Rich,” she stops him on his way to make one last trip to the truck. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” She nearly pleads, eyes wide with concern. She just wants him to break down these walls that have built up higher and higher since leaving Derry. 

“Yeah… I know that.” His eyes downcast, a sigh leaves his lips. His teeth, snaggled once more and something he was not willing to fix with another round of braces despite Went scolding him earlier in the week, raw his bottom lip. His shoulders heave with a greater sigh and he meets her eyes and she thinks he’s about to reveal what has him in this concerning state or perhaps unveiling the extent of his relationship with Jason with the same pride he’d been developing before the assault. Instead he tells her, “I got a tattoo.”

“Wait what?” She asks, stunned.

“I tried to hide it but I’m sure you’d have seen it eventually.” He laughs feebly, dropping his backpack to the floor and rolling his shirt up. She was certainly not expecting _this._ “I was really drunk and tattoo artists really don’t give a singular fuck if you’re not in the right state of mind to ink you with dumb shit like this thing.” 

Upon the lines of his ribs, he reveals a detailed metal trash can that has a set of bespeckled eyes and a grinning mouth with its tongue out comically drawn across it. “I don’t know why I got it but everyone said that I was insisting that it was the perfect idea for me.” He shrugs, not realizing how very right his drunken self had been. 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that.” She says honestly. She knows that’s not the answer to everything and as she’s about to continue the conversation, Went comes in and whistles lowly.

“When did you do that, Dickard?” He says as Richie moves to pull his shirt down.

“Uh…” 

“He did it mid-February after one of his shows.” Jason answers for him. “There was a party and I told him not to, but he didn’t listen of course.”

“Hey! I am fully capable of making my own choices!” Richie insists.

“You know it’s a good tattoo for you.” Went says, pointing at Richie to reveal it again. He complies, brow cocked as he stares down at it. 

“How? It feels totally random.”

“Your nickname as a kid used to be Trashmouth.” 

“Huh, how bout that.” Richie snorts. 

“Okay _that_ is making a comeback.”

“Your mom is making a—”

“Nope!” Jason shouts, darting outside with his duffle. 

“Is there anything else going on you want to tell me?” Maggie attempts. 

“Uh no?” Richie shifts uneasily, nose twitching as the obvious lie boils through his system. 

“You sure, honey? You know I am always here for you.” 

“Yes, mom.” He groans, his distress melting into sheer annoyance and dismissal of his mother’s concern. 

There is no point in getting him to open up right now. She waited too long to open this particular can of worms. “Alright,” she sighs and walks him out toward his truck.

“You two get home in one piece, alright?” Went says as Richie and Jason slide into the driver and passenger sides. 

“Sure thing.” Richie nods, adjusting his mirrors from where Went had changed them to gas up the vehicle that morning. 

“It was good having you, Jason! Feel free to come back anytime.” Maggie says to him. 

“Thanks for everything! I really appreciate it!” He beams. Maggie notices his hand sliding toward the gear shift where her son’s hand has already fallen. She takes note of this but says nothing. 

“See you later. Love you.” Richie calls out, twisting the ignition and slowly backing out of the drive. 

“Love you too!” She shouts back as he pulls out and begins his journey back to school. She hopes the next time he comes back he will look even better than this time around and return with a rediscovered comfort of being honest with his mother and the confidence to be who he is without the same shame that has burdened him for far too long.

xXx

**October 1995**

Richie does not end up coming home that summer. They get to see him for one weekend to move into the off-campus apartment he managed to secure with Jason under a year-long lease. He seemed alright for the most part; still visibly not himself with the lackluster facial expressions and edginess that never seemed to wear off. He decides to take care of some pre-reqs for classes he wants to take for his officially declared Theatre major and they see no wrong in that and are content in letting him spend the summer with Jason in their overpriced, shithole of an apartment that has wood floors in desperate need of refinishing and windows that no amount of windex could ever remove the seemingly permanent film that distorts their beautiful view of a crackling parking lot. To Richie, however, it’s a perfect space for him and it’s close to the ice cream parlor he’s started working part time at. 

She misses him desperately but her and Went make an attempt to fill the void their son has left that summer. They’re used to him running around with friends no longer in his memory or lounging across their couch with grass-stained socks and reeking of chlorine. Without him, there is a peculiar silence they’ve not had among them since ‘75. In order to make the best of their extremely open summer schedule, Went takes two weeks off from work and the two of them take a two week long vacation in Europe—finally travelling the world as Donald and Andrea Uris had encouraged them to do when their boys had first met. 

It was a beautiful trip and one they had desperately needed. Not because their marriage was crumbling—definitely not. She felt like she loved him more and more with each passing year that brought on new problems, greyer hair, and more goof ups for them to laugh at anytime the two of them snuggled like lovestruck teenagers on the couch. They had been under an undue amount of stress within the last year. Perhaps not as much as Richie, but enough that it had emotionally tolled on them to the point where their bodies were starting to feel it and being on the wrong end of forty meant that it hurt more than it normally would have. 

They weren’t even aware of the stress they’d been subject to until they were no longer feeling it as they held hands whilst walking toward the Eiffel Tower in the middle of a blissful summer rain they’d been hilariously unprepared for as their shirts clung to their bodies and hairs stuck to their foreheads. In that moment, it was like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders and they felt a sensation of content that had not settled upon them in quite some time. It had been perfect and despite the incessant worry they would always carry as parents that gave more than one singular fuck about their only son, they had felt relaxed. 

Of course, reality had to hit them like a brick between the eyes once they returned. But they were rejuvenated with a trip that served to melt away the pent up negativity in the form of cultural exposure and alone time not spent in the same four walls of a house they’d purchased on an anxious whim. They returned to their regularly scheduled jobs and their typical bullshit of scolding their son for his antics which seemed to have an upsurgence in the start of his sophomore year much to their dismay.

The school year had kicked off with Richie freshly enrolled in an abundance of classes that would further him in his major and with a sprinkling of electives which he was using to potentially pave way for a minor in an undetermined field. Maggie had a feeling he would settle on political science for her son had developed a rather outspoken voice for politics and she couldn’t admit it, but she was secretly proud of him for getting pepper sprayed during a school protest regarding the maltreatment toward the LGBTQA+ community—which while not as severe as what he (did not recall having) endured in Maine, was still a problem in the most progressive of states. He was envisioning himself as an ally but Maggie knew deep down with the way he was with Jason and how he had a drive to voice his opinion so strongly, he could still feel that piece of himself somewhere deep down.

Regardless of his political and social involvement within the university, Richie began neglecting his academics; something he’d never done so severely before. Richie had always been one to excel with flying colors even with minimal effort. Sure, college required a bit more energy of him and it was only going to get harder, but now it was a miracle if he managed to attend any of his classes more than once in a given week. He was still managing to make exams and pass them with ease, but his attendance grades were taking a major hit and it was reflective in the grades he was reporting sheepishly back to them. 

If that wasn’t enough, she’d had to wire Jason money in order to bail Richie out of jail for drunk and disorderly conduct not once, not twice, but _three_ times since the start of the semester. They nearly had gone to fetch his stupid ass on each occassion but Jason, ever the mediator, managed to put them at ease and assured them that Richie had been fine and had just got up to some dumb shit with his fellow improv colleagues. It was then that she was truly questioning the quality in the friends (sans Jason) that he’d managed to make at UCLA.

She did desperately want him to have friends. She really did. He had been so hopelessly lonely and miserable when he was by himself but despite not really knowing any of these other friends beyond their first names (which even that she could barely remember), she wasn’t sure these were the friends her son needed to keep. It was a shifty topic for her because Richie could be a timebomb at times. They’d instructed him to make friends and if they began ridiculing who his friends were without even knowing the entire story, problems were bound to arise. 

So, she settled for calling him out for his actions and his actions alone because even if this new behavior was influenced by college kids that were a little rough around the edges, that didn’t excuse him for committing these mistakes on his own. 

“We send you there to go to classes and to yes, make friends and have a good experience but it seems like you’re abusing the freedoms we give you by getting arrested, skipping class, and just not giving a shit about your academics.” She says sternly without raising her voice an octave above her normal inside voice. He needs to understand what he’s been doing is wrong and that will not be accomplished if she is condescending or threatening toward him. 

Richie is silent as she continues to list off reasons why he’s not meeting the expectations that are very much attainable with his skillset and how he’s worrying them. Her concern is not not mitigated in the slightest when she notices the slightest slur in his voice. 

“I know.” Richie sighs. “I’ve been a real jackass and I’m really sorry. I’m just going through a lot.”

“Well is it time to see the counselor again?” She sighs. “I can only help as much as you’re willing to let me, baby.”

“No, no, no. It’s just… I’ve been preoccupied.”

“With skipping class and partying.”

“No, it’s more than that. I’m just…” He sighs and she hears Jason say something she cannot make out in the background. Richie releases a long breath. “I’m dating... _someone_ —have been since summer.” A bitter voice in the background and the slam of a squeaky bedroom door. 

“Okay.” She processes slowly. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it really is. I like them a lot. I’m just not everything they need me to be right now and it’s been freaking me out.”

“Could some of that be because of your partying?”

“Well no.” Richie sighs. “The problem is I only become what they need me to be when I’m partying. I just feel more comfortable around them then.”

“Richie, that’s not healthy.” She states, concern flooding her voice. “That’s not fair to them or you.”

“I know it’s not. They’re not happy about it either but I’m trying to work through it. I promise I’ll try harder.” Richie is quiet for a moment. “I was thinking of spending Thanksgiving with their family. I think that might make them happy… I mean if that’s okay.”

“We haven’t seen you in a long time.” Maggie mumbles but she knows she’ll eventually have to get used to a life where her son has Thanksgivings for his _own_ family and may not make it around to spend the holiday(s) with her and his father. Primarily, she is concerned with the idea of Richie going off somewhere and losing _more_ of his already pathetic memory. That cannot happen though, a voice tells her. She chooses to believe it. “But, I suppose if you think it’ll help out your relationship and in turn _you_ , it’s okay with me.”

“Thanks mom. I really will try to stop being a dumbass.”

“You’re not a dumbass. You’re _acting_ stupid, but that doesn’t make _you_ stupid.” Richie laughs at that. “So, where will you be going.”

 _Ohio_ she thinks. “Uh out of state.” Her son responds. “I don’t remember what state h—they’re in.” The lie is obvious in his wavering tone.

“What’s their name, sweetie?” She tries to no avail.

He changes the subject. “So anyway, how are you and dad?” 

The lack of pronouns. The failure to disclose a name. The obvious fib regarding the location to which he’d be flying. Perhaps Richie is coming to terms with his sexuality again but there’s an off putting inflection to his voice when describing the person whom she is almost certain is Jason Rowley, his roommate and Eddie lookalike. There is an uncertainty and a guilty undertone to his voice as he describes this person and it’s not one someone should ever have when talking about their significant other. He might be with a boy and this boy is most likely his current roommate, but the pride and fire that set him aglow when he was with his Spaghetti is definitely not there. 

xXx

**December 1995**

Richie does not forget about his family after leaving the state however, Maggie stops hearing from Richie almost completely after Thanksgiving break. He calls still but the conversations are typically just a quick check-in with little to no substance. There is an intense velocity in everything he says as if his already high energy levels have somehow managed to increase at an exponential level, causing his words to be spit out so fast it’s like he’s literally speaking in cursive. He gives meager details regarding his life. Yes, he’s back to going to class and is set to make the Dean’s List again. Yes, he’s still in improv and making everyone around him laugh. Yes, he’s still dating this mystery person and is very happy with them. Yes, he’ll be home for Christmas. 

He sounds void of life despite the abundance of energy he clearly possesses and it is very obvious he’s not in the best state of mind but each time she or Went attempt to chime in their concerns, he immediately declares that he needs to pay mind to his “partner” as he’s taken to calling his significantly other—as if they were in some shitty wild-west novel. Or he’s simply too busy with schoolwork or something in his club but she knows he’s not being fully honest with her and it becomes that much more obvious when he shows up at their door for Christmas looking like he’s been dragged up and down a gravel road far too many times. 

His eyes are foggy behind his glasses, marred with dark circles that are too deep in color to have only just appeared during this past Finals Week. His pupils are like pinpricks in a sea of blue that is only bright in color as it contrasts against bloodshot whites. His hair is tousled sloppily and it is almost as if he is vibrating before her with random twitches that encapsulate his entire body. He’s strung out and clearly not fully present with them even as he pulls them each into too-quick hugs and exchanges formalities with them too rapidly for her or Went to vocalize their concerns before he turns on shaky feet toward his bedroom. 

Within a few days of being home, he seems slightly less erratic and less like an overwound toy robot waiting to be let go to mechanically walk across a child’s floor. But in turn he becomes more irritable and snappish with them. His patience has worn to absolutely nothing and theirs is quickly following with each day and it seems to all come to a pique over Christmas dinner—something that seems to have become a cursed occasion in the Tozier household for it has become notoriously riddled with arguments that end the festivities early.

Richie, being nineteen, had asked if he could try some of the more expensive wine she and Went saved specifically for holidays and special occasions. Sure, the special occasions were sometimes Went’s office getting a new shipment of his favorite satin floss or her discovering that she was still flexible enough to touch her toes without bending her knees—but sue them, it was exciting enough for them to justify the usage of their favorite red. Christmas was definitely a more warranted time to drink the stuff and although Richie was not of legal age, given his exposure to the stuff with college, they saw no problem in pouring him a small glass, expecting him to pucker his lips at the stuff as all college kids might, for their tastes weren’t sophisticated enough for anything beyond cheap vodka that tastes like rubbing alcohol or beer that smells vaguely of stale piss. 

To their surprise and concern, Richie seems to go through the wine faster than anyone at his size should. They barely even notice it at first since within the first glass his tension has alleviated significantly and the snappy attitude fades away and is replaced with something a little brighter and more relaxed. While it is a front induced by a combination of the alcohol and his below average body composition, they aren’t keen to dismiss it for they’ve not seen their son with any pep in his step since his arrival. It may not be genuine but even a fake smile is better than the face of anxiety or the scowl he’d held for too long. 

Maggie only really notices the amount her son has consumed once she goes to give herself her first refill only to realize the bottle is near empty. 

“Went, how much have you had to drink? She asks as a few meager drops of crimson drop into her empty glass.

“This is still my first, hon. I prefer the nog.” Went shrugs, raising up a glass of the creamy substance. 

Her head whips to Richie who wears a hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expression upon his features that are definitely slackened under the effects of the copious amount he’s had to drink.

“ _Richard!_ ” She scolds seriously. “How could you have gone through that much, wine.”

“It’s not any more than I have at Improv parties.” He mutters, alcohol-induced giddiness wiped from his face and morphed into his usual sour expression. 

“That’s inexcusable, Rich.” Went says, snatching his son’s glass away.

“I didn’t realize, okay. Jesus.” His words, despite his best efforts are slurred. Normally, it might be humorous to have their son drunk at the table but with the attitude he’s had and the peculiar jumpiness he’s exhibited all break, it’s nothing they can even snicker at. 

“No. That is complete bullshit, Richie.” Maggie snaps. “This is the final straw. We give you so much leeway and you’ve been abusing it lately and I’ve had it.”

“I got my grades back up!”

“ _That’s_ not it, Richie. You have a pissy ‘tude with us and you’re clearly not taking care of yourself _again_. You refuse any help we offer and I...I don’t like what you’re turning into Richie.”

“Did you expect me to be the same forever?” Richie scoffs.

“No. I did not. But I expect you to respect me and your father.” She thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I like these friends of yours.”

“Jason is—”

“She’s not talking about Jason, Richie.” Went on a break. “We mean these improv friends. You know the ones you got arrested with three times?”

“Oh my God, are you fucking kidding me?” Richie laughs sporadically, shaking his head in disbelief. “ _You_ guys told me to join a club and make friends and now you’re mad about it?”

“We never said that. We just think hanging out with these people outside of the club probably isn’t the best for you since you have clearly demonstrated a severe lack of impulse control.” Went argues in an even voice. 

“We think you should stay in the club, sure. But make _other_ friends.”

“ _No!_ They actually like me. They think I’m funny and they help me _be_ funny.”

“Richie, you are funny.” Maggie says. Of course, everything goes back to Richie’s persistent self-doubt. “You don’t need friends to be that way.”

“Well they give me a push.” And the way Richie says that unsettles Maggie a great deal.

“What does _that_ mean?” Maggie demands, narrowing her eyes, the cogs working in her brain to evaluate Richie’s behavioral changes.

“It means nothing!” He snaps.

“You know, this shit never happened when you were friends with the Losers. They actually liked you for you and gave a shit about you You never felt like you had to change for them or do whatever the fuck you’re doing to ‘ _be funny_ ’ for these shitty friends you’ve made now. These people are not _real_ friends.”

“Oh my Fucking God!” Richie yells, standing up from the table, nearly knocking over the water pitcher. “I am _so_ fucking tired of hearing about these Losers. If they were fucking Losers, why was _I_ friends with them? You need to fucking get over whatever these friends I supposedly had. They aren't in my life anymore and they’re not here now so clearly they didn’t give enough fucks about me anyway.” 

He doesn’t even know who they are but he still had the capacity to feel abandoned by these friends he supposedly had.

“Richie, I’m sorry about them. But they loved you so fucking much and I don’t know what happened with them or how to explain it to you but regardless, these friends you have now aren’t _it._ ” 

“Well they’re the best I can do so that’s _that._ ” Richie grits out, turning out of the room. “I’m going to bed.”

She opens her mouth to make him stay and face his problems, but Went rests his hand on her tricep, eyes sad and jaw set with nerves. She purses her lips, letting a long breath out through her nostrils.

“Get a bottle of water before you go.” Went orders. 

Richie mumbles something they can’t quite make out but he does backtrack to the kitchen. 

xXx

The next morning as she and Went sit with their hands snug around warm mugs of coffee, their son enters, a weak smile on his face. He looks a little green around the gills but not bad enough where she thinks he needs to worship the porcelain throne anytime soon. They heard him complete that task a few times last night. They’ve made sure to whip up a breakfast that would be kind to him rather than finishing off the rest of the waffle batter they had leftover from Christmas morning.

“There’s some ginger ale in the fridge.” She says. “Your father made you a bowl of sugar-free oatmeal too. It should settle your stomach.”

“Thanks.” He says softly, scooping himself a small amount before sitting in front of her, shame written across his features. “I’m really sorry.” He says, meeting their eyes.

Maggie nods slowly and Went sits back in his seat taking a long pull from his mug. 

He swallows thickly, eyes brimming with tears of guilt. “I really didn’t mean to be a jackass yesterday. I know I’ve been kinda shitty lately and it’s just a lot of stuff right now and maybe some of it is my friends. I just really like them and I can try to distance myself but I don’t want to cut them out. I...I can’t be alone anymore. Not again. I have… my partner, yeah. But I need other people too and their friends—I don’t really click with them.” He laughs self-deprecatingly. “I don’t think they like me… which makes sense. It does.”

“Don’t say that, honey.” Maggie says. “You can be really sweet but this… this just isn’t you and you need to figure that out.”

“I will. I promise.” He shifts his shoulders awkwardly. 

“If you need help, we always want to listen, Rich.” Went tells him. “We love you and if you don’t want to talk to _us,_ we can get you someone you’re comfortable talking to.” 

Richie sighs. “I don’t need to. I really don’t.” He smiles. “There’s just a lot going on, but I promise everything is fine. I’m happy right now. I really am.”

Maggie’s heart drops as she looks deeply at her son and contemplates his actions and his words. She knows the difference between real and fake happiness and Richie’s happiness is about as real as the Gucci handbag that Went got for her for Christmas.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it wasn't too dull!!! I apologize that this one has really off pacing and is choppier than the fuckin atlantic in hurricane season. Yikes. Thank you for sticking around this far if you have. Also brown eyes are bootiful. Hazel eyes are bootiful. All eyes are pretty. :D Went is just a complete dad and I attempt to write him as a lovable goober. Do I succeed?idk characterization worth my left sock. whoops
> 
> I hope this chapter is okay? I'M JUST FEELING THE SADDIES RN AND LIFE IS A MESS OUTSIDE OF THE CURRENT WORLD STATE AND MY PROBLEMS ARE MINIMAL IN COMPARISON BUT IM JUST SAD AND IM SAYING THAT BECAUSE I AM AND I NEED TO RECOGNIZE THE VALIDITY IN IT AND IF YOU ARE SAD TOO BUT FEEL LIKE YOU CANT SAY IT BC THE WORLD IS A SHITHOLE YOU CAN. YOUR FEELINGS ARE ALWAYS VALID. 
> 
> okay?  
> okay.
> 
> no this isn't TFIOS jesus. 
> 
> comment if ya want. It gives me an illusion of social interaction. It doesn't even have to be about this shit show chapter. I like talking to the fuckers that take the time to power through this fic which Im realizing is starting to becoming a monster in length. Befriend me on tumblr or tiktok or some stupid shit. Roast me there. I'll probably compliment you excessively. 
> 
> im gonna be 22 real soon which is gross. gag. Cancer gang tho. I might not be able to be Jared (19) and unable to read but I'm old enough to party. 
> 
> Richie's major downfall is next chapter (i think?)
> 
> Richie is doing Chloe Ting in the living room because he realizes his jeans won't go over his thighs but it's actually because he accidentally grabbed Eddie's jeans but Eddie likes to watch him wheeze in the living room and scream during planks. he'll tell him later but until then he's gonna critique Richie's shitty squat technique. :)


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here's Richie getting at his lowest point buckaroos. Or I guess I should say, his most VISIBLE low point. Things will definitely be hell for our little dick toaster for a majority of his existence because clown-related PTSD is a BITCH. 
> 
> The pacing is going to be truly whack in this chapter as a lot happens and is that any excuse? Absolutely not. Am I pretending it is? Oh hell yes. I am but a piece of shit and PROUD OF IT. :)
> 
> TW: Character heading TOWARD a mental breakdown (not quite there yet) and Drug abuse/addiction written as someone who has been the witness to several addicted family members in their lifetime and has seen the ugliest parts of it and how it hurts not only the person but everyone else too and also written by someone who has had a legit mental breakdown and not the cute crying in front the bathroom mirror throwing peace signs type bc THATS NOT A MENTAL BREAKDOWN!!! I am putting (***) around where the discussion of this subject takes place if you wish to skip!!
> 
> remember to take your meds, wash your face, and drink water, kiddos. 
> 
> totally don't listen to wait by m83, medicine by daughter, and if we could just pretend by flatsound when reading this!!!!!! it won't make the experience at all anymore distressing!

Maggie knew that her son was hitting rock bottom. 

**October 1997**

Richie’s partner dumps him. 

_Jason_ dumps Richie and Maggie knows she can declare him as the mystery lover despite Richie refusing to disclose the identity of his significant other—and _that’s_ where the problem lies. Jason was out and proud about being gay and dating Richie. Maggie and Went had only visited their apartment a handful of times but she had noticed that there’d been a pride flag hung in Jason’s bedroom, just over his desk and he himself had a couple of pins decorating the backpack he’d brought to their house in the few times he’d come home with Richie. Decorations aside, she had just a handful of one-on-one conversations with the Eddie lookalike, but he was never afraid to discuss his relationship with her son. Richie however, continued putting up a facade of being strictly heterosexual by portraying Jason as a friend and nothing else when around her and Went and most people for that matter—unless he was slap-happy drunk. Maggie hates to admit it but she can’t say she blames Jason for breaking up with her son. Someone can only handle being a dirty little secret for so long. 

The breakup occurred back in June, just a week before what would have been the second renewal of their lease. Richie had called her sobbing hysterically, clearly drunk which only served to enhance to pain his shattered heart was feeling. She ends up driving down that night and since Jason has left to stay with a friend for the remainder of the lease, Maggie ends up staying over because leaving Richie to his own devices would not have been ideal in the slightest given that he’s not afraid to try and get hammered drunk with her _there_ . She can only wonder what he would have gotten up to had she not intervened and allowed him to heave violent sobs into her shoulder and moaning about how he wasn’t enough. She knew it wasn’t appropriate, but she desperately wanted to inform him that he _was_ enough but he was making his partner feel that they weren’t enough—especially given that he still referred to them as such and wouldn’t even give them a name to her and Went. 

Jason moved out of the apartment while Maggie was still there and Richie had been conked out in his bedroom, having spent the night attempting to drink his weight in cheap vodka while Maggie was in the shower and unable to supervise him for a solid fifteen minutes. He froze upon seeing her in the kitchen, preparing a hangover-friendly breakfast for her son and his ex.

“Uh hi.” Jason managed weakly.

“Hi, sweetheart.” She greeted him with genuine kindness. There was no animosity towards him from her. He did what he needed to and she could not blame him for that.

“I’m guessing you heard?” 

She nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry things couldn’t work out between you guys.”

“I just need to get the rest of my stuff.” He sighed. “I just can’t date someone that isn’t proud to be with me.” He paused. “I know there’s a lot going on in that head of his but I can’t help him if he doesn’t want to be helped.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, sweetie.” Maggie assured him. “You are doing what’s right for you. I’m sorry he alienated you like that. He does care about you. He’s just in a weird spot right now.”

Jason nods. “Yeah. I worry about him a lot.” He sniffled. “I’m afraid he’s going to do something stupid one day. Please make sure he gets okay and figures himself out. He deserves to be happy and I can’t be the person to do that for him. I care about him a lot but I know, deep down, I’m not _his_ person.”

Maggie smiled at the young man. “Thank you Jason for being there as long as you were. I know it could not have been easy.”

“I do love him. I do. I know he loves me but not in the way I want him to.” He pulled out a note. “Make sure he gets this. I can’t say goodbye to his face but I think this will give him some answers and maybe help him along the way some?”

She did give the note to her son when he woke up hours later after Jason had moved his stuff out. Looking back on it, she’s uncertain as to what the letter said but she knows it could have been nothing but good things coming from his ex, but it was still not enough to protect Richie from what would come later.

Richie no longer had a roommate and at first he suggested that he move into one of the studios within the building. Maggie and Went quickly rejected that notion for they knew letting Richie live all on his own was not a good idea in the slightest especially given the concerns Jason expressed for his mental health. It wasn’t easy to find a place to live for his pending senior year—where had the time gone? Time sure did fly when your son’s mental health was crumbling before your eyes and no amount of therapy or attempted intervention proved to be a viable solution. 

The new school year had been just around the corner and it was impossible to find any vacancies in any apartments or dorms on the campus. Unfortunately, much to her and Went’s dismay, one of the Improv members had been a senior and had been moving out of a house he had shared with a few of the other club members. Although Maggie and Went never fully approved of the type of friends Richie had in that group since they could witness the influence they’d had on their boy, they could not argue the option too much as it was the _only_ one Richie had at that moment. So he had moved into the 70s style home that had a heinous wood paneling throughout and was clearly inhabited by three other boys given the state of the carpet that was literally everywhere, including one of the bathrooms and the peculiar blended smell of booze, vomit, and B.O. that filtered through each room, where no amount of febreeze could mitigate the nose assaulting stench.

It went without saying that Maggie’s anxiety spiraled upward with him moving into that house, especially given the propensity for the Improv Club to engage in wild antics with their constant desire for wild parties and weekendly bar crawls. She did have to be rational in her thinking as it was the only way she wouldn’t go entirely grey overnight or suffer from a full blown aneurysm. It would only be _one_ year of him living there and after that, he would graduate and go off and do something with his degree that would hopefully grant him some of the happiness he’s been void of since leaving Maine. 

However, that idea seemed to be fading from the forefront of her brain, along with the minimal sanity she possessed in having a twenty-one year old that became increasingly more unruly over the years, on her hands. She and Went aren’t ones to aggressively push their son through life. They never have been. That method may work for some kids, sure, but they always knew it was out of the question when it came to their son. It was better for them to be encouraging and allow him to go at a pace that was well-suited to his overstimulated mind. 

Lately though, it was beginning to become concerning over his blatant disregard for his life after college. He was going through the motions in that he still attended his regularly scheduled classes, completed assignments, and got by with decent grades. They weren’t what they used to be by any stretch but a slight decline in college was expected of anyone. But, when it came to deciding or even just _considering_ what he was going to do once he received his degree, he was entirely dismissive about the subject. He expressed little interest in his future long term career or where he wanted to go with his life. Maggie attempted to research potential paths he could take with writing, producing, and even acting but Richie was stubborn as a mule and refused to read up on any of the material she presented before him or would totally shut her down when she started discussing the manner. 

Maggie and Went had tried on countless occasions to make him realize this wasn’t like high school where his timeline while very obvious was not as crucial. Now, he was about to step into the “real world” and needed to find interviews, internships, and other passages that could guide him into a life where he could be self sufficient and would not always need their help—not that they wouldn’t be there to offer any. They just wanted him to be capable enough of providing for himself and to live a life comfortable enough where he could have access to essential resources and the idea of having to fork over money on a rainy day would not be so distressing for him. 

Richie simply did not seem to care at all about where he was going to end up in the future. This lack of concern seemed to only increase as the semester progressed and Maggie could feel the wedge that had formed between her and her son growing with each passing moment. He had always been so close to her, since he was small. Even when he was struggling and wanted to bat her away out of shame, a part of him still clung to her and expressed a love and need for her. Now? He appeared to want absolutely nothing to do with her and any attempt at getting him to open up to her was met with scathing words that held no weight but were full of malice that should never slip past the lips of her sweet boy, or the dial tone of him hanging up because he did not want to hear whatever she had to tell him.

Maggie felt like she didn’t even know him anymore. The boy she’d worked so hard in raising felt like a complete stranger. Sure he inhabited this Richie-looking flesh vessel, but this was not her son. It was a shell of the goofy, bright, and loving boy she had doted on his entire life. In its place was an empty faced, bitter, defiant creature that wanted nothing to do with her or Went. He had gone through phases in his life where he made attempts to distance himself from them for he was suffering from the weight of his own insecurities and anxieties, but this time was different. He was vulnerable in those times and deep down, it was obvious that he wanted them near and they could, with some effort, manage to break down his barriers and get him to open up and work with them in mending the problem. 

This time, he did not want them at all. He refused to have them in fact. There was no busting down the walls he’d put up this time no matter how hard they tried and continued to try. He barely talked to them and when they did miraculously manage to get him on the phone, their conversations were rushed, slurred, and contained zero substance. Anytime they stepped over his very narrow boundaries of what was acceptable for him to hear, he would swear at them and hang up. He didn’t even say _‘I love you’_ to them when he did stay on the phone without abruptly hanging up on them.

Maggie could only handle so much of this and she really tried to see through it. Richie was nearly done with college and he was becoming an adult and he wasn’t going to need her and Went as much as he had in the past. That was a given. However, this near disposal of their entire relationship was not something she could handle and after yet another night of trying helplessly to get through to her son and to get him to open up to her, something he’d not done in years, she finally broke down.

She dropped in bed where Went lay, still awake as he too got nervous anytime he knew Maggie was making yet another attempt in calling their son. She didn’t want to give into the emotions overwhelming her inside but the heavy feeling in her chest, the thick feeling in her throat, and burning of her eyes let her know that this was a battle she could no longer win.

“Anything to report, my dear?” Went inquires as she closes her eyes in an attempt to prevent tears from breaking the surface of her eyes. He takes note of her expression and sits up, placing a hand on her knee. “What happened this time ‘round?”

“You should be sleeping, you know.” She whispers, the squeak in her voice betraying the mental strength she’d attempted to maintain whilst dealing with their son. “You have work in the morning.”

“Can’t.” He shrugs, wrapping an arm around her. “You okay?”

She shakes her head, closing her eyes wanting to swear as she feels the first tears sneak past her lashes.“Our son hates us.”

“No, he doesn’t” Went insists. “Richie could never hate us—especially _you_.”

“How can you believe that? He barely talks to us and when he does it’s obvious he would rather be doing literally anything else.” She lets out a sob and he pulls her close to his chest. “Maybe we shouldn’t encourage him to move on because once he gets his own job and his own life he’ll probably never speak to us again.” She hates herself for even saying that because she wants him to move forward and would love to see him become successful but if that means abandoning them and never reaching out to them again, it’s out of the question for her. Maybe she’s selfish but if wanting to be in her son’s life makes her that way, well then she is truly the biggest self-seeking bitch ever.

“That’s not true, Mags.” Went mumbles but there is no confidence behind his words. He too has doubts revolving around the likelihood of their son staying connected to them once he graduates college. 

She shakes her head. “What did we do wrong, Went?” She peers up at him and she notices that his eyes are glistening and his jaw is clenched tightly. He wants to be strong for her but even he is crumbling under the stress of handling Richie.

“We’ve done everything we can, Maggie.” 

“No we haven’t! If we had, our son wouldn’t be like this—whatever _this_ is.” She snaps, exasperated. “We can’t even figure out what the fuck is making him like this. I mean we have our suspicions but we haven’t done anything to fix anything and he’s just gotten worse and worse over the years and now he’s just gone.”

“He’s not gone, Maggie.” Went chokes. “We can still help him.” 

“I don’t know about that anymore.” She rakes her fingers through her tangled curls. “What did we do? I...We both have done everything to give him a decent upbringing. We looked out for him, we provided for him and his friends. We made our home a safe place to all of those kids without overlooking him. We made sure he felt loved and accepted but maybe… maybe we could have done more. We _should_ have done more.”

“What more could we ha—”

“We clearly _failed_ him, Went.” She cries.

Went shakes his head, silent streams of tears cascading down his cheeks and slipping beneath his stubbly jaw. “No we didn’t, Maggie. We have not failed him. There is still so much time for us to help him and fix whatever the fuck this is. Richie is going to be okay one of these days. I’m not giving up on him and I know you’re not either.”

“I would never give up on him.” She mumbles, allowing him to stroke away stray tears. “I just can't bear to continue this constant cycle of worry and arguing with him. I just want him to open up again and to be upfront with us and not be so hidden and angry all the fucking time.” She shakes her head hoping that will will away the next round of sobs. “I fucking regret leaving that town. We should have never left.”

“We had to, Maggie. Richie was in danger there. You were right then and I stand by our decision to this day.”

“How can you? Our son has lost an entire chunk of his life since we left that fucking piece of shit town.” She meets the sad eyes of her husband. “Making him leave might have been the worst thing we did because when we left, we left almost every bit of Richie there. Now, he’s this broken person and I just want our baby back but I don’t know how the hell we do that because he doesn’t want us anymore.”

Went sighs, holding her in his arms. “We… we can figure this out. Richie has never made it easy for us to figure him out and this… we can do this too.”

Maggie doesn’t know. She doesn’t know if she believes him or if it’s just sick false hope that lightens her heavy heart just a tad. She’s certain it’s the latter as she closes her eyes and considers possible ways of mending their son’s current state—she cannot think of any that their son would be content with. Anything that crosses her mind is a sure fire way of simply angering him and having him push them away even further than they currently are. “I’m not sure what we can do.”

“I’ve had ideas. I don’t know. Sometimes, I think we just need to pull him out of school entirely, for a year or so.” He heaves out a long sigh. “I just know he would hate us for it but I know we can’t really help him if we keep putting off the problem just so he can finish school on time or whatever which is stupid.”

Maybe letting him be mad at them for a while and fighting them will be worth it if it means they’re helping him. She nods in agreement. “I think it’s time we pull Richie out of school. I’ll… I’ll call him tomorrow and tell him we’re not making anymore payments toward his tuition and that he needs to come home and then we can start whatever we need in order to get him help.” She sighs and melts against Went. “I don’t want to let him down anymore.”

xXx

The call goes about as well as can be expected. Richie screaming at her is barely anything to bat an eye over. Him accusing her of ruining his life is almost enough to make her yawn. Richie being mad at her for expressing any amount of concern was a twisted normalcy at this point. It still hurt to hear and made her heart lurch painfully with each accusation and seething tone that was so unlike her son but she knew what to expect when she told Richie what her and Went wanted to do. 

What was not expected after Richie told Maggie, _“I fucking hate you,”_ is him completely disappearing off the face of the Earth. 

She had informed him that her and Went were fearful for his well being and they were no longer going to stand by and let him continue to do whatever he was doing that was causing him to devolve into such an unhappy person. He had simply scoffed through the entire conversation, insisting they didn’t know what they were talking about and he was absolutely fine. Then, of course, she brought out the big guns and told him they would no longer be financially supporting his education and had already called the school to let them know he would need to be unenrolled for a mental leave of absence. 

“You can’t fucking do that!” Richie screamed at her. “I’m a fucking adult. I’ve been paying for some of my tuition.”

“We pay for more than a third of it which means, yes, we do reserve the right to do this, Richie. This isn’t us trying to take over your life or hurt you, Richie. We are worried about you and think you need some time off in order to get better.”

“I don’t need to fucking get better. I need you to get off my ass and let me live my life.”

“What life, Richie? You have no motivation or interest in pursuing anything beyond college and all you do is party and fuck around anymore. You’ve been miserable for four years and I’m sorry we didn’t do anything sooner but now we’re going to and we are going to fix it.”

“I don’t need you to make that fucking call.” He growled.

“We’re worried about you Rich—”

“Well fucking don’t be. I’m fine and I’m so sick of you underestimating me and trying to take over my fucking life because you have nothing better to do.”

“You are _not_ fine, Richie. You never talk to us, you never come home, and you’re never happy anymore.”

“I’m not happy when I talk to _you._ ” That had hurt but she kept her ground. “You ever think of that?”

“I don’t know what’s made you like this, honey… but I’m not going to just hope for the best and assume you’re going to work your way out of it. I am stepping in and I’m sorry I didn’t do so sooner. We will be there this weekend to help you move out, okay? I love you and your dad loves you and we can’t just stand by and watch this happen any longer. I’m sorry.”

“ _Fuck_ you.” He screamed. “I fucking hate you.” He hung up after that and while she felt like he had reached in and tore her heart from the confines of its cage, she knew she was taking the right step and expected things to be rocky for sure but that she would see her little boy on Saturday and be able to somehow make right by him.

She and Went spend the remainder of the week each crying and never receiving an answer from a surely pissed Richie each time they attempt to call him in order to adequately plan his removal from the campus. It is disheartening but they’ve accepted they will be pulling him off of the grounds of UCLA doing nothing except kicking and screaming. They know he is absolutely furious with them but they are for certain that this is the best course of action to take but they really do need to hear from him before they show up in front of his house expecting him to be ready to help carry all of his belongings into his truck (which Went will be driving home in) and into their car. None of it will be executed in even a remotely smooth manner, but it would be nice to at least hear a seething _fuck you_ and _whatever_ before showing up to the door of the shitty ass house he’s inhabited for the last several months. 

On the morning of the day they’re supposed to leave, she’s about to call it quits in getting an answer to the phone and accept that they’re just going to have to go into this blindly with zero input from Richie. But finally, the crackling sound of an answer meets her ears.

“Richie? It’s mom.” She says slowly, her heart pounding in her chest.

“ Oh, this is Kyle.” A slurred voice informs her dumbly. She vaguely recognizes the name but she never truly took the time to get to know the identities of the various hooligans her son has surrounded himself with in the last four years of his education. She mainly knows their faces from the shoddily taken photographs in her son’s room at school that shows them to be into nothing but partying and causing a nuisance. She feels a heat of anger rise in her chest but she knows the blame cannot be misplaced solely on these poor excuses of young men. Her son needs to be accountable for his misbehaviors. “You calling so much keeps waking all of us up.” 

She exhales a long sigh, finding a semblance of composure. “Sorry, but I really need to talk to Richie.”

“Richie? Aw shit, he hasn’t come home since like Tuesday night.” He snorts and all the burning anger she previously felt quickly transforms into ice and she finds herself unable to stand as she slides down the wall near the base of the phone. 

“What?” She manages and Went whips his head around when he hears the panicked undertone to her voice. 

“Lady, I really am hungover right now and I—”

“I swear to fucking God if you hang up, I will report you and your whole fucking house for providing alcohol to minors at parties which I know damn well all of you fucking do so you stay on this phone and _listen to me_ you little shit.” She feels a flicker of guilt in snapping at a twenty-something year old like that, but right now, her concern outweighs her conscience.

“Jesus Christ, crazy bitch.” Kyle grumbles. “Okay, yeah he never came home.”

“Is his truck there?”

“Yeah.” He answers, a long yawn following his answer.

“Has this happened before?” She wonders aloud.

“No?”

“Did you report him missing?”

“No. I just figured he’d come home or whatever. Richie sleeps around with everyone,” something she _really_ didn’t need to hear, “so I just thought he was getting’ action. We’ve called around but no one has seen him.”

“Did you call the cops?”

“We… we didn’t think to do that because… well we… we don’t want them searching our house.”

“Oh my God, so he’s been missing for four days and no one is looking for him?” She cries and suddenly she’s back in ‘89, reading reports of missing children and child sized legs and arms found scattered around the town. She’s back to worrying every minute her thirteen-year-old son was out of the house and envisioning him becoming some statistic but now her worst fears have been manifested into reality.

“We have been. I swear.” He insists, the slur leaving his voice. There seems to be a genuine tone to his voice. “We will find him for you.”

“No, no. I’m calling the police.” He attempts to argue on the other end, fearful for their own skins, but Maggie doesn’t give a singular shit and is already darting to find the yellow pages in order to contact UCLA’s campus police.

As she flicks to the U section, Went approaches from behind. He’s visibly unsettled by the nervous energy she is putting off in tsunami-like waves.

“What’s going on?”

“Richie is missing. His car is still at the house and no one has seen him since I talked to him on Tuesday night.” She answers shakily, her voice breaking. “What if he’s…”

“Hey, no, no, no.” Went pleads, pulling her close to him as she breaks into tears. “He’s… he’s probably gone somewhere and we’re going to find him. We’ll put out a search for him and we will have him with us again. I promise.”

She heaves out a sob, unable to prevent gruesome images of the worst possible fate for her boy from conceiving in detail within the darker parts of her brain that only came about when she became a mother and unabating worry became a daily part of her life. 

Went, always the one to bring it together in the most devastating moments, looks down at her with his big brown eyes, full of concern for not only their son but for her mental wellbeing. “ _I’m_ going to call the campus police and we’re going to get this search for him started, okay? They will find him. He will come home. I promise. He’s probably just run away for now because he’s angry. It’ll… it’ll be okay.” The uncertainty in his face betrays the meak strength he attempts to express in his voice. She does not inform him of this. Instead she nods as Went grabs the phone, skims the phone book, and begins dialing the number.

xXx

**November 1997**

The search from Richie unfolds but is met with little success. He has truly evaporated from existence and no one comes forward to report having seen him. Maggie and Went feel as if their life is crumbling before them. They’ve elected to take a leave off of work as she can barely bring herself to do anything except curl up in Richie’s bed, still unmade from his last visit and cry as the faint scent of her son meets her nose whereas Went nearly had a nervous breakdown at work when his calendar revealed that his son’s next cleaning was scheduled for what would have been his Thanksgiving break. 

Two weeks slip past them and their hope in seeing their son seems to fade with each day of nothing to report. There is an unspeakable amount of grief that seems to darken the Tozier household and it leaves the two remaining residents absolutely eviscerated in terms of what little mental wellbeing they’d possessed in having a child that was already tearing himself from them. But with him gone? There is a heavy weight that never seems to budge. A dark film that mars their ability to see any joy in their surroundings. A desire for the next day to never come if it means not hearing from their son again. 

Maggie wonders if this is how Sharon Denbrough felt as she stares emptily at the wall across from her and Went one night. Went somehow managed to doze off tonight, his breathing even and deep. He had been up night after night, conducting his own research in an attempt to find some leads on their son. He had been dreadfully exhausted and had broken down in a way Maggie never expected out of her husband. He had heaved disgusting sobs and became so small; so unlike the big man she was so used to enveloping her in warm hugs and embraces that left her heart fond and warm with adoration. She had put her head upon his, tears silently pooling down her face and rubbed a hand in between his shoulders, quiet for she had no words to heal their devastating situation. All she could do was hold him for that moment and urge that he get some sleep for once.

She had to move his glasses off of his face as he’d been too mentally and physically drained to move them from his own face. The motion reminded her of the times she’d done the same for her son and had left her with slumped shoulders and a blank expression as her mind opened deeper holes she did not know even existed and revealed to her even more horrific images of what could have been done to her son. 

It was then that she decided she needed to get to campus and take matters into her own hands. Surely, Went would have appreciated being included in this but all logic was gone. She was in full mother bear mode and could not possibly consider doing this with anyone, even the love of her life. She easily slides out of bed without waking Went, which is unsurprising for his body had definitely been on the verge of collapse from the emotional stress he’d been enduring for far too long. She slips out of her nightgown and grabs a sweatshirt of Went’s that falls to the middle of her thighs and a pair of sweats that seem to have grown looser since Richie’s disappearance. She can’t say it’s shocking. 

She descends down the steps, grabs her keys and slips on the sneakers she’s left by the front door. She nearly darts out the door but then realizes if Went were to wake up and find her gone with no sign, she could realistically spiral him into a breakdown. So, she quickly scratches out a note and places it on the kitchen counter explaining that she is going to UCLA to look for any leads on their son the clearly incompetent staff must have missed. She climbs into the car, and drives off into the night, knuckles a stark white against the steering wheel. 

She focuses on her breathing, occasionally looking out the window in hopes of seeing a shadow of a gangly young man in the night as she gets closer to the campus. She finds her way to the house her son inhabits. Her throat thickens at the sight of his truck, parked and untouched in the cracked driveway. She steps out, the sky having lightened just slightly and she wonders what time it is. There’s absolutely no way anyone in the house is away and she realizes she will most likely have to break in or knock until one of the Improv Club members wakes up in order to let her in. 

Luckily (and quite stupidly on the part of the boys), she tests her luck and of course the bozos have failed to abide by any basic safety rules and the door is unlocked. She enters, cringing at the creaking of the aged door. She waits for a moment and when no college aged boys attempt to attack her, she makes her way toward the room she knows to be Richie’s. She finds herself holding back a fit of gags as the stench that she remembers from the place seems to have gotten worse since the last time she was there. 

She enters Richie’s room and it is an absolute hellhole. His bed is unmade and textbooks are thrown haphazardly with their spines being put to the limits, suggesting they will indeed not be able to return them to the bookstore and she will be forced to purchase the overpriced books. There is an abundance of dirty mugs, stained with coffee scattered about and far too many empty handles of hard liquor strewn about the mess of dirty laundry and crumbled papers. She knows the police did a brief scope of the place, but said they had found nothing that could point them in the direction of her son but she has her doubts of how thorough they were. 

She has always respected Richie’s privacy but now, the basic respect is nothing in comparison to the worry and fear she’s been weighed with for the last two weeks. She begins shoving things aside, pulls clothes out of their spaces, and dragging things from under his bed in hopes of finding something, _anything_ that will tell her something about her son. Something that will indicate where he is or inform her as to why he is so vastly different from her once vibrant-with-life boy. She empties his closet, scouring through every square inch and finding absolutely nothing until her foot bumps a pair of polka dot rain boots he’d found at a thrift store. There is a faint rattling in the boot and her heart drops to her chest as she sinks down, putting her hand into the boot and feeling several things stashed into the rubbery shoe. 

**(***)**

Shakily, she pulls out several items and everything seems to freeze for a moment as her brain processes the bottle of Percocet in her hand. She continues to yank thinks out of the boot and thinks she’s going to be sick as she finds herself in the possession of not one, but three bags of a white powder she knows to be cocaine and a half-empty bottle of adderall her son has most definitely not been prescribed given the adverse reaction to the class of drugs he’d had in his since forgotten youth. She slumps backward, hand falling against her mouth as her body heaves with sobs. 

How could she not have seen it? The irritability. The miniscule pupils. The jittery hands. The aggression. A complete textbook case of someone heavily addicted to various drugs and she missed it. Maybe she knew it all along but refused to see it because she could never imagine her son doing such a thing. 

She’ll look back on it later and remember the twisted feeling that had been in her for too long and know she knew what had been happening.

She begins dumping out the rest of his shoes and finds her body trembling violently as more and more drug paraphernalia falls out of almost all of them. More cocaine. Speed. Pills. Several needles. Each new item serves to further freeze the blood in her veins. She holds her head in her hands and completely loses it, not caring if she happens to wake anyone else in the house. But instead of waking someone and having to endure the slurred voice of one of his friends, she is met with something else. Like something caught between a joke and a miracle, a voice she knows too well and has missed with every fibre of her being meets her ears. 

“Mom?” And she whips around and it sounds like her son but all she sees is a corpse.

His face is deprived of all color. His eyes are sunken behind glasses and his hair is unruly, matted, and overgrown. His cheeks have been hollowed and she sees the way a collarbone beneath the shirt that once fit, now falls off a bony shoulder, juts out just a little too far. His lips are almost white in color and are so chapped that they look like they might actually crack and fall from his wan face. She sees his hands shaking at his sides as he looks down at her slumped on the floor and the anger and animosity he’s held for her for months now is not there and instead he looks mortified and perhaps sad to see her crying as she holds the devices he’s used to make himself in such a God awful state. “I...I…” His voice is weak and he freezes as she gets up and swiftly walks toward his emaciated form.

She wants nothing more than to scream her throat raw at him. She wants him to know the sheer amount of agony he’s put them through these last few weeks. She needs him to understand that him disappearing has essentially tore her and his father apart. She needs to let him know he’s ruining not only his life but the lives he’s going to leave behind if he continues down this path.

But as she opens her mouth to begin her tyrant, she sees her baby. She sees big dusky blue eyes that, despite not being capable of seeing her, stare at her with an expression that can only be explained as love for the person that carried them for nine months and gave them a life… even if they were throwing that life away. She can see him, peering up at her with an innocent smile and chubby cheeks as he holds his arms up high, waiting to be held by her after sharing an entire box of Hot Tamales. She sees him laughing as Went throws their little boy, all sharp edges and awkward angles, over his shoulder and playfully scolds him for talking back at the dinner table. Sure, he’s none of those things anymore but no matter what he does or what he looks like, that is how she will always see this shell of a human being before her.

She throws her arms around his shoulders and cries into the crook of his neck. He stiffens at her touch, surprised by the reaction but softens, placing unsteady hands on her back as he manages to wrap his arms in the shape of something he’s not given her in too long—a hug.

“We’re going home.” She states, as she separates from him, cupping his face in her hands. “You’re not… you’re done here. Okay?”

He nods his head quietly. “Okay, I’m—”

“No, no. Not right now. Please. Just please come home with me now.” 

He nods silently, and moves to start grabbing stuff to pack but she steps in front of him. “I’m packing for you. Just… please sit down and please don’t leave me again. Richie I...I can’t lose you to _this._ Please.”

He’s quiet and shakes his head in understanding as she begins packing just enough to get him through a week or so before she and Went can return to this room and the heart wrenching stash within it to finish packing up all of his stuff. Until then, she needs to get out of this place with her son in tow lest he be a figment of her imagination that will vanish should she look away for too long. She’ll have to report him as found to the police at some point, but right now she refuses to take her eyes off of him. 

They get everything together, and she quickly grabs his hand, thankful that it doesn’t disappear at her touch and pulls him out toward her car. The sky is tie dyed with shades of orange, pink, and lavender and perhaps if the circumstances did not feel so dire, she would have taken the chance to bask in the warm morning sun and admired the misty fog that had settled around the campus, but there was no time to appreciate mother nature when life felt so disturbingly hideous. She pulls him into the car and throws his bag into the back and begins their journey home, neither of them willing to utter a single word as she makes her way onto the highway. 

Finally, Richie breaks the silence. “I’m sorry.” She nods silently, jaw set. “I don’t know what happened, it just… I needed to get away.”

“Okay.” She responds, attempting to rationalize everything without breaking down behind the wheel.

“It wasn’t you guys. Yeah, I was taking out everything on you but it was just… well you saw everything.” He swallows thickly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“We’re going to get you help.” Maggie says.

“Okay.” Richie agrees quietly. “I’m sorry.”

xXx

She manages to get him home without Richie somehow vanishing into thin air again. He steps inside, hunched in on his bony body and Went is huddled on the couch, sipping from a cup of coffee his frayed nerves certainly do not need. His head whips up as he sees Richie sheepishly appear from behind Maggie and he darts up, dropping the mug on the rug, and pulls Richie into a fierce hug that is probably too strong for their son’s weakened bones to handle but right now. 

“You never fucking do that, again.” Went sobs. 

“I’m sorry.” Richie says feebly. 

Went steps back, jaw quivering as he takes in their son. “You look like a ghost.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Oh God, Richie… what have you… where have you been?”

“We’re going to talk about everything after Richie gets some sleep.” Maggie announces. “Can I trust you to do that?”

Richie nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry again.” He bites at his fingernails that are already gnawed down to bloody stubs—anxiety fueled by drugs. “I’m… I’m sorry for everything.”

“We can talk about this later. Please get some rest.”

Richie nods, and quietly takes himself up the steps.

Went turns to her. “Where did you find him?”

“He walked in as I was going through his closet.” She wipes at her eyes, images of the drugs that are still spilled across his carpet flicker across her mind. “I have no idea where he came from. He was just there and I knew I needed him to get him home.” She sighs. “We’ll have to inform the police that we found him and he’s as okay as he can be given everything.”

“What—”

“Cocaine. Speed. Heroin. Pills. You name it. He’s on it. He’s addicted to it.”

“No.” Went whispers, shaking his head. “I know he drinks a lot and smokes pot, but _that?_ No… it can’t… Maggie…”

“Went, look at him. It… it’s been pretty obvious and we just ignored it.” She chokes. 

“I would have noticed. I have to know when someone is an addict if they’re trying to get me to do a procedure on them just so they can get pain pills or whatever… I would have known.”

“Not if you didn’t want to see it.” Maggie whispers. “I didn’t wanna see it either until I fucking found the shit.”

The couple is obviously riddled with inexplicable guilt and shame. They feel like failures as parents. They’ve let their son stumble down a path so many people rarely come back from and they let it go on for God knows how long. They won’t know exactly how long this has been happening until Richie reappears from the rest he so desperately needed. Deep down, they know it’s been going on for quite a while.

Instead of wallowing in their guilt, they clean up the spilled coffee, repour more caffeine they each do not need, and settle themselves upon the couch. Maggie and Went draw out plans for a course of action to take once their son is awake and they can talk about this more thoroughly. But the longer she sits next to her husband, watching as he writes down names of potential psychiatrists and drug counselors, a sensation of foreboding in the pit of her chest seems to expand like a balloon about to burst. She continuously glances upstairs, waiting for her son to return to them, ready to discuss everything. He does not. Sure, he’s certainly sleep deprived but with the stuff he’s pumped his body with, his jittery body is probably presently incapable of resting for an extended period of time.

Quietly, she stands up and Went is talking to her but she is not hearing him. She only has sense for the way her feet move mechanically up the stairs and the light of the bathroom she can see gleaming from underneath the door. She places a palm on the door slowly, as if a fire is behind the door and heating up the knob her hand circles around. She twists it open and finds her son, hunched over the counter, breathing in fresh cut lines of the powder that he must have managed to sneak past her when they left just hours ago.

Everything seems to happen all at once. He whips around to her running at him and pulling him down onto the floor. He kicks and screams, elbowing her in the jaw as he attempts to lurch himself forward. But his body, despite being exhilarated by the rush the drug definitely gives him, is too broken down and frail to fight against the strong arms of his sobbing mother. She hears the voice of her husband screaming into the bathroom but all she can focus on is the squirming of her son’s skeletal body as he yearns, screaming and fighting to fuel himself with the deadly concoction next to the sink and the excruciating pain that glimmers in her baby’s bloodshot eyes.

**(***)**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really sad right now in the US as we're literally moving backward in regards to LGBTQA+ rights and it's disheartening to see it happen before our eyes. We can only hope to vote this fucker out. Register in time for November if you be of age!!! Don't vote a random person in... we have to settle for youknowwho and it sucks but splitting the vote between them and a third party just sadly gives the horse in the hospital a vote. 
> 
> I was initially going to make 30/31 all one chapter but I decided I wanted to space them apart in order to keep the most severe events in Richie's breakdown isolated and kinda stretch it out just slightly because even 2 chapters of this stuff is not realistic in portraying how long it takes for someone to go through hell and back and then to recover which he will. I promise. Not in terms of his mental health unfortunately. Repressing your sexuality and missing a chunk of your existence isn't exactly healthy...especially if you served life as a comic relief and never addressed ya feels my dudes. 
> 
> I hope this one is okay. I'm having a lot of trouble writing this and I know the pacing is off a lot and the writing feels a little off to me? I'm just having low self esteem hours (aka life) and I'm nauseous about hitting post to be quite honest? Idk. I'm having big self doubt bc in ya know when ya in quarter life crisis bc ya issa vibe. I just want this to be good ahhhh. I am the stressed. but it is ok. i nEED TO GET OUT OF THIS NEGATIVE HEADSPACE SO I AM DOIN THINGS THAT SCARE ME aka all 200k+ words of this monster.
> 
> highlight tho: I turn 22 on the 22nd and you bet your spicy ass my tipsy self will be screaming Taylor Swift's 22 all day, nonstop. I wish I was in PA tho. Would love to be near a Wawa again. RIP. :(
> 
> Richie and Eddie decided to go on a run together. Richie was not as awful as Eddie expected but that's only because Richie refused to let Eddie make fun of him so he pushed through the agony of running until they got to the car and he cried for 20 minutes. Eddie got them each smoothies <3 cute.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaddup. I hate how June is almost over? Disgusting. Everyone commenting lately has been like super nice and I hope everyone finds like twenty bucks in between their couch cushions or something. You deserve it. Damn.
> 
> I hope this chapter is good. Always gonna be perpetually nervous in posting and I should take my anti anxiety medication but if I did, I would never write anything because what they don't tell you about most anti anxiety meds is that THEY KNOCK YOU OUT. You can't panic over your existential fear of space and the idea of your life meaning absolutely nothing if you're fuckin comatose, Becky. GOD.
> 
> So yeah! 
> 
> TW: Drug withdrawals, Overdose (I WILL BE DOING (***) AROUND WHERE THAT IS; IT'S AT THE VERY END SO ONCE YOU SEE IT, JUST LEAVE THE CHAPTER), overall not the best mental health in our boi and our family. Again this is coming from someone that comes from a family of heavy drug/alcohol addiction/has witnessed the process of rehabilitation, recovery, death, etc. as a result of the disease. I'm making it slightly easier on dick toaster than it should probably be but also a chapter can only be so long my dudes.

Maggie knew that  _ this  _ was rock bottom.

**November 1997**

Finding Richie help is a fairly easy task. Afterall, they are just outside of L.A., and drug rehabilitation and therapy is not exactly an uncommon feat in this area of California. Celebrities and rich folk with more than one house are not unfamiliar with the supposed joys that come with party drugs and the unfortunate addiction that frequently follows the usage of them. They’re quite acquainted with the idea of snorting powder off toilet seats and popping pills in hallways just before plastering on tight grins and racing their hearts just to get through a night of socialization with people with names none of them care to remember and to scratch a devilish itch that is burrowed deep in the diseased brain that comes with an addiction. 

Sure, finding him the doctors, counselors, and therapists in order to get him “better” are simple to find. The process, however, of what comes with getting help is another thing entirely. After hours of waiting out the high he induced upon himself in the bathroom, they finalize some appointments and begin the process of recovery. This begins with detoxification which Maggie and Went quickly realize is not something they can handle by themselves so they are quick to get Richie admitted in a hospital in order to ensure that he is properly cared for throughout the misery that accompanies this process. Misery, as they quickly realize, is definitely an understatement. 

Once he’s admitted, he’d already begun to exhibit signs of withdrawal—shakiness, agitation, and general discontent. Within forty eight hours, he’s demonstrating full blown symptoms. He’s vomiting up straight bile and stomach acid because he refuses to eat anything, sweating through hospital gowns at an alarming rate, sobbing hysterically, and begging for some type of relief—just one more hit and then he’ll be ready. Obviously no one complies with his demands and he quickly makes an enemy of the staff with his kicking and screaming; twisting himself away from IVs meant to hydrate his weakened form as the needle feels like a hot nail piercing his over sensitive skin. 

Maggie and Went, having been approved for an extended leave from work, spend every waking hour at their son’s side attempting to make the process just a tad more bearable. They refuse to let him feel embarrassed when he throws up down his front when he’s too weak to turn and aim toward the bedpan a nurse had left during his last wave of nausea. They quietly help his shaking form toward the shower, sparing him his last remaining dignity in allowing him to wash himself without supervision once he proves he’s not somehow managed to sneak something with him despite being  _ thoroughly  _ searched when he first got admitted. 

Maggie weaves her fingers through his sweat drenched hair anytime he begins to curl on himself, hands wrapped around his middle and teeth grinding so tightly that if they were in a different situation, Went would be berating him about the abuse toward his back molars. His body spasms involuntarily, begging for substances it’s been, as he admitted to the doctors, accustomed to receiving since the second semester of his freshman year. He whimpers pathetically to her, eyes pain filled and streaming fat tears behind his glasses. He apologizes and pleads for something to diminish the wretched pain he is in, which is of course administered in the form of drugs designed to knock him out in order to help him avoid the worst of the symptoms. Maggie can only wonder what the worst would look like because what she’s seen thus far has been quite horrific—but she understands they can only do so much without having him form yet another addiction to whatever aid they are providing him with during the worst waves of his withdrawal. 

It is unspeakably hard for them to watch him endure such excruciating pain. She wants nothing more than to take it for herself and let him continue his life without ever having to twist his face into such a distressed and tormented expression. She wipes sweat from his face, whispering kindly to him as he struggles through the peak of the symptoms. She’s by his side through most of his stay only leaving briefly to go home to shower. Once, after one of these visits home, she returns to find Went in bed with him, both of them sound asleep as Went holds him like he’s a little boy again, hand limp against the middle of his spine where he must have been attempting to rub away the tension he’s carried with him in excess since the start of his detox. It would have been a more endearing moment had the circumstances not been so dire. 

Logically, she knows him feeling so awful is only a testament to the fact that he is expelling his body of the poison he’s subject himself to for far too long but witnessing him endure the pain that comes in this process seems like it’s doing more harm than good and she almost wants to call it quits just so she doesn’t have to see his head thrown back in pure suffering anymore. But, finally, after what feels like years, but is only just under two weeks, Richie’s symptoms seem to abate. He stops getting violently ill and is no longer curled up in pain when he is not blissfully sedated. He’s still riddled with tremors and perpetually damp with sweat, but her heart does joyful somersaults when he wakes up one morning and turns his head toward her, a tired smile cast upon his grey face. She’s not seen anything other than tormented expressions on his face since the process first started so to see even the faint upward curl of his lips is enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“Well hello there mumsie,” he whispers to her in a croaky British accent. “I smell quite rank if I must say so myself.” He snorts out a laugh and that’s a noise that makes her heart soar inside her chest even if the sound is weak.

“I’d have to agree with you on that one, Richard.” She smiles, moving sweaty curls away from his eyes. “Your dad is getting some breakfast… think you could eat something?”

His stomach answers for him, letting out a furious growl which is unsurprising given the fact that he’s not really consumed any solid food since the start of his stay. He flushes at that, smiling in mild embarrassment. “I think that’s a yes.”

“I’d say so.” She giggles, kissing his forehead, not minding the sheen of moisture that has permanently covered the surface of his skin since the start of his recovery. “You up for a shower before he gets here and a change of sheets?” 

“I think so.” She eases him out of bed, posing as support as he blinks away stars that twinkle before his eyes. “You think I can get outta here soon?”

“They might consider it if you manage to keep some food down and get your electrolytes a little more balanced.” She answers, guiding him toward the ensuite bathroom. “The doctor will also want to get us set up with a counselor and some potential rehabilitation programs.”

Richie shakes his head in agreement, twisting the knob on the shower to a mildly scalding temperature. “Alright. Will I be sent away?” He asks shyly as she moves to leave him to do his business.

She looks at his expression, the fear of abandonment and being alone again clearly written in his puffy eyes. She knows inpatient might be the best for most people in that it tackles the problem more directly and leaves absolutely no room for relapse whilst in the facility. But for Richie? It probably won’t be the most ideal especially given the circumstances that spiraled such a rapid onset of drug reliance. She offers him a sincere smile. “We can ask them about outpatient programs.”

He mirrors her soft expression. “Thanks mom.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Now please shower. I wasn’t kidding when I said you smelled bad.” He giggles at that and she’s just so happy to see him demonstrating an emotion that isn’t pain for once. 

After Richie showers and eats just over half of the small breakfast Went got for him, the doctor comes in, pleased at Richie’s newfound liveliness. She chuckles when Richie offers a meek apology for his hateful behavior that he exhibited during the start of his stay. She reassures him that it’s a common reaction and he was significantly more mild than most of their other patients and Maggie, wanting to be respectful, refrains from asking just much worse a patient can be because she won't admit it but Richie, to her, resembled an off-brand version of the girl from _The_ _Exorcist._

She runs an electrolyte panel on him, determining that he’s in acceptable ranges but not quite within normal values. He has had a significant upturn since his last test as he’s actually consumed solid food and has managed to keep it down. Should he continue working toward a normal diet and alternating between bottles of water and Gatorade, he should find himself at standard values for his size. With instruction to monitor his eating and drinking, she informs them that he should be able to go home but before they can give them any discharge papers, they must discuss the future of his treatment and recovery.

Maggie immediately voices her concerns about inpatient treatment and how she’s not certain such a route is ideal for Richie’s long term recovery.

She hums in understanding. “Normally we would recommend inpatient treatment for someone that was heavily addicted to so many substances at once, but we fully understand that the environment in which one is spending their recovery can be vital in aiding the process and also avoiding potential relapses or the worsening of other mental health conditions such as depression, anxiety, and PTSD which you explained having been an issue for him in the past.” 

Richie nods quietly, freshly changed into a pair of sweats and an old sleep shirt he’s had since it fit him like a smock back in middle school. Went rubs his shoulder reassuringly, soothing out knots that have twisted themselves since the start of this anxiety-inducing conversation.

“So, I  _ could  _ do something out of a hospital?” He asks hopefully.

The doctor nods. “Yes, but that will require more effort on your and your parent’s part and I have no doubt that each of you will be fully invested in this process just based on what I’ve seen since you got here. A lot of family members tend to be extremely uninvolved about the subject and see it as something the patient brought upon themselves—which we know is typically not the case. Addiction  _ is  _ a disease that while is often started by a choice is not something anyone chooses to go through. Some people actually experience addiction simply by taking prescriptions their doctors give to them for standard, everyday procedures. It can be near impossible to get through recovery if you don’t have people by your side but it really seems like you’re all ready to take this on together.”

Richie perks up at that. “I’m really lucky to have them.” 

“You do have a really stable support system and with that in mind, I think outpatient might actually be the best option for you anyway. You will, however,” She continues, looking at Maggie and Went, “need to continuously monitor him and it may seem invasive and come across as general distrust but it is for his best interest that you search his bedroom, pockets, or anything he takes with him anytime he leaves the house.”

Richie speaks up, “The tylenol and ibuprofen bottles in my bedroom actually have ketamine and speed in them. I’m also pretty sure I have some coke in my bathroom from last summer. I’m not sure.” 

“That’s a good sign that you’re willing to disclose that information.” The doctor says encouragingly. “I would dispose of that accordingly and go through other stuff with him as well.”

“We will definitely go about that as soon as we get him home.” Maggie agrees in earnest. 

“I’ve already written him a referral for a facility in Santa Monica and I will email them informing them that Richie will be partaking in their outpatient counseling and treatment programs.” She presents them with a brochure that explains the details of the location with some flowery images of individuals with obnoxiously white teeth and expressions that are definitely not that of people currently going through the throes of recovery but Maggie elects to not speak up on this fact. 

“You’ll start off with a one-on-one session with one of their addiction specialists and you two are welcome to accompany him if he so wishes. After that initial session, they will formulate a prospective plan of how many sessions a week they think he’ll need as well as provide more information about some group sessions he could look into and they’ll also most likely want him to see a psychiatrist there in order for him to get some antidepressants or anti-anxiety medication that may help him along the way. A lot of addicts find that their cravings are worsened by symptoms of other mental health problems, so in treating those and alleviating them, it is common for the addiction recovery to become significantly easier.” 

“Do I have to worry about becoming addicted to those types of medications?” Richie inquires, the nervousness evident in the wavering of his voice. 

The doctor gives him an easy smile.“Antidepressants  _ rarely  _ have addictive properties but if you find they don’t agree with you, you should wean off of them and not quit cold turkey like we did with you here. It can have similar effects regardless of how they impact you in terms of addiction, as they are designed to alter the chemical state of your brain so halting a drug like that can have adverse side effects.” 

“However, some anti-anxiety drugs can have an addictive quality to them. But they would most likely prescribe you something that was take-as-needed—something that you would take when you might sense that you’re about to experience an anxiety attack. Your parents can monitor your medication if that makes you more comfortable or you can elect not to be medicated at all. They will be respectful of whatever you want as long as it is within reason and does not serve to directly hinder your recovery.”

She thinks for a moment before adding, “Personally, I would suggest an antidepressant at minimum just because it might help with the low feeling that you’re going to expect to feel as a result of not having that drug-induced high and it will also most likely help regulate your sleep a little more and should they give you something in the SSRI class of drugs, it may enhance your appetite which you could probably use to be quite frank.” 

Went can’t contain a chortle at that and Maggie pinches his upper thigh subtly behind their son’s body, but he voices his unnecessary stream of fatherly consciousness anyway, “Someone telling  _ Richie _ , the infamous bottomless pit that he needs to  _ up _ his appetite—never thought I’d live to see the day.” 

Richie arches his neck upward, sticking out his tongue in a childish act of self defense. Such action triggers memories Maggie holds deep within the confines of her heart of her son puffing out round cheeks as he poked his tongue out toward his father anytime he was playfully scolded for some minor misbehavior or humorous mouthing off. She smiles to herself, flicking her husband in the forearm in order to bring their attention back to the doctor who seems to be appreciating their interactions and is probably taking note of them and storing them away as further evidence that Richie comes from a family that does get along and is fully dedicated in the journey of their son’s recovery. 

“It should help him get that appetite back that he probably has lost in the last few years.” There is no denying that he’s lost most of that given his frail appearance. “No matter what, they will help find a path that is best suited to his most optimal recovery and will ensure that the process is as painless as possible.”

“How long could this take?” Richie asks, wiggling nervously.

“There is no timeframe really. We don’t like to disclose average recovery times just because it can be discouraging for some if they’re not on ‘track’ for a lack of a better term. Recovery is different for each individual that goes through it. It’s not linear for anyone. You’ll experience harder days and some days that will feel like you never had a problem at all. I just recommend taking it day by day and to be kind to yourself throughout it. Being hard on yourself and setting time-based goals will do nothing except upset you in the end. Utilize the support you have from not only your doctors but your parents as well. If you do all of that, you’ll find extremely desirable results.” 

xXx

**June 1998**

Richie heeds the doctor’s advice and the results are absolutely stellar from all angles. There are of course some bumps in the road they are forced to encounter throughout the process. He has days where his cravings are intense and he finds himself yearning for anything to take the edge off which is difficult for Maggie as a mother to witness, but they manage to make it through with some of the therapeutic exercises she and Went had studied thoroughly since he first began treatment. Some days, while he isn’t wishing for a hit of something, his body is deprived of the euphoria produced by his previously used substances and he falls into pits of deep depression that leave him in bed for days despite his progressively increasing dosage of antidepressants. He will stare mindlessly at a wall, not moving unless his body is begging him to use the bathroom or someone (usually Went) forces him into the kitchen and spoons soft food into his mouth just so he has something to keep his body going. He sometimes succumbs to the sadness that weighs in his gut and breaks down whilst curled up in a tight ball, begging for relief from the darkness that envelopes his vulnerable mind. 

Those are the worst days. However, much to their pleasure, they seem to be decreasing in frequency and even with those days having occurred, Richie’s recovery is and has been going relatively smoothly. It is not easy in the slightest but the (hopefully and she hates saying hopefully but she was told not to see it as permanent) long term results that come as a result are worth every single one of the harder days. 

He seems to look forward to going to therapy and wakes up each day with a vigor that she doesn’t think she’s ever seen her son show for anything he’s done in his entire life. He takes significantly better care of himself and looks healthier than she’s ever seen him. He has color back to his face which now radiates a vibrancy she can’t remember seeing in him since before leaving Derry. His eyes are wide and excitable and no longer bagged with exhaustion or tinted an angry red. He smiles more than he has since the start of his first year of university and while it doesn't seem to fully reach his eyes as it did in his last summer spent with Eddie, it’s not nearly as strained and it’s something she’ll accept for the time being if he believes it to be genuine in comparison to what he knows—which isn’t much since even after seven months of treatment, he cannot pinpoint his existence prior to California without extreme nausea or agitation. It baffles the staff at the treatment center but they decide it’s not something they can focus their energies on seeing as it seems counterproductive in addressing it, with the visible distress it causes him.

Went returned to work within the first four months of Richie’s rehabilitation and Maggie was on an extended leave of absence in order to ensure that Richie’s recovery remained stable and he would not have any unsupervised slip ups. To a family not enduring something similar, it may seem as if she was untrusting and helicopter-parenting him, but she knew this was the right course of action for her to take to ensure the physical and mental wellbeing of her son. Richie did not seem to mind it in the slightest and they’d fallen into an interesting routine together. 

They would wake up just as the sun was beginning to rise, a habit developed as most of Richie’s doctor appointments tended to be extremely early. If he didn’t have any appointments in the morning, they’d go outside for a walk around their neighborhood. Sometimes these strolls were spent with the two of them talking about serious matters such as how he was doing mentally and what he’s been discussing in therapy, or cracking jokes and playfully shoving each other into the well-trimmed hedges that are more green than they should be given the water rationing with the impending drought that is bound to plague their area by July, or they would say nothing and enjoy each others company in blissful silence as the sun warmed them as it slowly ascended from the eastern sky. 

Once they would complete their walk, they’re both usually in need of a caffeine fix and some breakfast. Maggie herself usually drinks coffee with a sprinkle of sugar and a splash of cream and has half of a bagel while her son throws back his antidepressants with a cup of cream and a splash of coffee and enjoys a sugary cereal she would not have expected anyone above the age of twelve to enjoy the way her son seemed to. He rarely drinks the milk at the bottom, electing to set it on the ground for Eduardo to greedily lap up if it has not been completely compromised by the sweetness of whatever cereal he’s chosen for that particular morning. 

The rest of their day would be spent completing errands, having short beach trips if Richie did not have any afternoon appointments, or just about anything in order to occupy the remaining hours of their day whether that be attempting (and usually failing) a new recipe one of them found in a cookbook or simply rewatching some of Richie’s old favorite childhood films in the living room together. Maggie cannot help but feel a pinch guilty that she felt quite happy about the fact that she got to stay home and be with him every single day. She obviously hated that he had to put his life on pause for such a crucial problem but after having him nearly slip through her fingers and being near successful at pushing her out of his life, she can’t pretend she was unhappy about the fact that he was at her side every waking moment and that he did not seem bothered by this fact in the slightest. 

Of course it could not remain this way forever because part of Richie’s recovery is slowly returning to a normal life—becoming a functioning member of society again without having someone (i.e., his mom) watching over him all the time. Maggie is aware of this too and while she adores being with him all the time, she and Went each have discussed the issue of what he wants to do with himself once he feels more content with the state of his progress. As his recovery continued, she transitioned back into part time work, taking half days for the most part and the minute she and Went came home, they would search Richie and his room together. He was also subject to random drug screenings which he always passed—which they really weren’t too surprised over as he had fully dedicated himself to getting clean and working toward a better life. 

They cannot force this type of development on him as it needs to be  _ him  _ that decides that he is ready to reenter himself into the world again and he does do that. When Maggie returns to work, Richie takes it upon himself to start jogging (a term they would all use loosely for Richie ends up running completely uncoordinated for half a mile and feels winded not long after and spends the rest of the excursion walking and taking in the sights) as one his counselors suggested that physical exercise would help ward off some of the depressive episodes that he still occasionally fell victim to. It was in one of these “runs” that Richie happened to stop by a community college in the area. He ended up exploring the campus and since it was in close proximity to their home, Richie returned home that day with a desire to return to school and thus complete his Theatre degree.

He knew that it was possible for him to return to UCLA as he could easily commute if he was willing to leave earlier in the morning and because the Registrar of Academic Enrollment still had all of his information on file, but the memories were too dark and haunting to even consider stepping foot back on that campus every again. Maggie could not blame him. When Went returned to the college in order to retrieve all of his belongings while she sat in the hospital with him, he had admitted to getting physically ill while going through his belongings and getting an in depth look as to how shattered their son had been while attending that school. It wasn’t anything the  _ school _ necessarily contributed to but the location would always be remembered to Richie as the place where he got sick in the first place—and you can’t get better in the environment that made you sick. 

The community college, while just mere minutes from their home was out of the question because it did not offer a Bachelor’s in Theatre as Richie was aiming for and that was to be expected out of a smaller college as that one had been. So he decided to have a transfer request, along with his academic transcript, sent to the University of Southern California which was less than fifteen minutes from their house. Despite it being a prestigious university, it was a surprise to no one that Richie was accepted for the spring ‘99 semester as a part time student since it was too late to get admitted for the fall. He felt ready to reintroduce himself into the world again, but he (wisely) did not want to subject himself to the heavy amount of stress that would weigh upon him as a fulltime student especially given the fact that he was going to be commuting from home every single day. 

It was something he was genuinely looking forward to and Maggie and Went could not be more proud of him. Since he did have to wait in order to continue his education and he desperately wanted something to do in his spare time outside of therapy, Richie decided to apply to work at a local movie theater. He initially suggested that he take over his future finances for college but Maggie and Went assured him it would not be necessary and that he should set aside his paychecks in a savings account for his future  _ after  _ college. They would still be there to help him if necessary, but it would be encouraging to witness that Richie was capable of handling money without their assistance and to their surprise Richie ended up handling such a responsibility extremely well with minimal assistance on their part. He had made extraordinary progress and was truly growing up and not in the simple kodak-esque milestones that were gut wrenching to witness, but in that he was becoming the self sufficient, functioning adult that he needed to become in order to steadily remove himself from their nest and become who he was meant to be—even if it hurt to let him go. 

xXx

**August 1999**

Richie ended up losing his job at the theater back in October of last year. Not because of anything dire like missing shifts or because he had fallen off the wagon of recovery, no. He lost his job because Richie was tired of the disrespect he was frequently subject to as an usher and decided to spoil Jack’s fate in the world renowned film,  _ Titanic  _ to any guest that was less than polite to him. She couldn’t help but laugh at the news of his firing when she should have probably reprimanded him for such behavior but it was just something so Richie and just the type of antics he used to pull prior to the decline he’d had in his mental health.

Despite the loss of the job he actually rather enjoyed for Richie was a sucker for cinema and a job with free movies and popcorn was truly the pinnacle of luxury to his simple tastes, he was doing remarkably well for himself. He has been sober for over a year and is down to one therapy session a month which is rarely spent discussing the anguish of his previous life and more so focused on his upward spiral and where it is presently taking him. 

As of now, Richie is an official graduate of USC, having elected to finish his course work during the ‘99 Summer Session. Richie decided that he wanted to finish then as opposed to extending his college experience into the fall as he found a paid internship for a production company in L.A. He had impulsively decided to meet with one of the interviewers back in April despite having absolutely zero experience with legitimate job interviews— ones not conducted in the middle of the storage room of an ice cream parlor in a college town or the lobby of a movie theater —and had gotten through it with flying colors. 

The hiring staff  _ adored  _ Richie’s energy and believed that he held a lot of potential for creative contribution. He would be set to start come September and that meant having to finish school before then as they required a Bachelor’s Degree from all employees and since they were set on hiring Richie after just a single meeting with him, they were willing to disregard the fact that he didn’t have one when they initially welcomed him aboard, but would by the time he was set to start working for them. 

Whilst waiting for this career to take off, Richie started doing small stand-up gigs at a couple of bars across town. He had gotten really into writing some quite hilarious material and not simply saving it for her and Went’s amusement at the dinner table but for the ears of locals that were more than willing to tip the guy that had them laughing so hard that their alcohol spewed from their noses. It’s something he seemed to thoroughly enjoy and given the extremely positive feedback and requests to return to some of the bars, his confidence rose dramatically.

Maggie has never been one to doubt her son’s capabilities but if she said she hadn’t been nervous about him performing in bars, well she would have been a complete liar. She did not withhold such concerns from Richie and told him upfront when he first started performing at the end of last year that she was worried about him being in an environment that could potentially trigger a relapse. She did not want to discourage him from doing what he clearly loved nor did she want him convinced that he would be chronically haunted by the weight of addiction, but she felt he needed to be aware of her extremely valid apprehensions regarding the particular venues he was electing to present his craft at. 

He did not seem offended at all and if anything he seemed to appreciate her honesty with him. He had simply hugged her and told her, “I’m in a much better place now and when I’m in there I don’t even think of it as a bar or somewhere I could drink and throw everything away. For me, it’s just a place for me to do this…  _ thing _ of mine. But if you want me to be breathalyzed or something every single time I come home, I’m more than willing. I know I worry you sometimes and I’ll do anything to make sure you and dad are happy. It’s the least I can do.”

Her and Went did not force him to be breathalyzed after each gig when he would return home well after midnight and with a check from the owner and a hefty wad of tips from people who were exceptionally entertained by his act. They more than trusted him to maintain his progress and were especially confident in him when his therapist took note of how impressed she was with his personal determination and dedication to self betterment and his clearly defined aspirations to somehow establish himself in the entertainment industry even  _ beyond  _ the job he has already secured for himself. 

Richie has made incredible strides in the last year and Maggie often finds herself crying over her son’s successes. She had always believed that he would do amazing things since he was just a tot but such beliefs had been admittedly thwarted when he hit what she believed to be his rock bottom just over a year ago. It had truly seemed as if her son’s life was over and there was no coming back from the hellhole he’d put himself in. She was convinced she was going to have to bury her son or would never see him again as he attempted to wedge himself away from her and Went. But he miraculously beat the odds and thrust himself headfirst into recovery and with a seriousness someone as comically gifted as her son should probably not even possess, he took all the necessary steps and while addiction was still lingering in the back fields of his mind, he took it down with success that had all of the professionals involved in his case, in awe. 

He has a heading. He has concrete dreams that go far beyond what he has already manifested for himself. He isn’t where he might have been back in Derry but they’re getting there. They might never get there again and that is something Maggie and Went have grown to accept with their own individualized appointments with therapists. Who knew that parents having to help their child with their struggles would need counseling as well? They’re starting to become content with the fact that he’s creating a success that is different from the version he would have established for himself back in Derry and maybe that’s okay. 

The subject of sexuality has come up both between him and his therapist and between the three of them as a family. They avoid bringing up past discussions or the relations they know he had with Jason, but ensure that he is fully aware that they would accept him no matter what. He seems to take kindly to this sentiment as he no longer expresses outward disgust at the prospect of being anything other than straight as he had when they first brought it up when they’d initially made the move to California. It was an upcoming development and one they could continuously address within his boundaries.

Until then, they were focused on celebrating his present triumphs and his ongoing progress toward a successful life as an independent adult that would soon be leaving the nest as he already discussed getting an apartment for himself. Maggie, while sad to see her boy growing up so fast, was genuinely so proud of everything he’d accomplished thus far and truly could not wait to see where he ended up.

That is until everything went south. 

Since graduating college, Richie has taken to helping out around Went’s office on the rare occasion he’s not booked for some gig the following evening. He will typically spend a couple of hours organizing the waiting room and entertaining some of the kids that are visibly terrified about having to endure the torture that is a basic teeth cleaning. He is quick to assuage their fears and make them laugh when he talks to him in one of his many voices or manages to conjure up PG jokes that won’t raise the sculpted brows of their disinterested, rich California-bred parents. Maggie cannot help but ponder the idea of Richie one day, happily married, and making his  _ own  _ kids laugh.

Unfortunately, today Richie wakes up visibly exhausted, having performed a late set the night before. They know he’s not in any way hungover and is simply drained and while he is set on entertaining the tykes of the office, Maggie and Went insist he take the day for himself to recuperate and if he feels obligated to later, he can drive by after their lunch break and entertain those kids. 

“Alright.” Richie agrees around a yawn, rubbing at his already drooping eyes. In a groggy Southern accent he says, “Ya kids have a good day. Make good choices and don’t do nuthin’ I wouldn’t approve of, ya hear?” 

“Loud and clear Old Macdonald.” Went responds in his own accent, pretending to tip an imaginary cowboy hat in their son’s direction. 

“Love you baby!” Maggie says as she quietly eases the door shut. He responds in kind but she can’t quite make out the words as his face is already nuzzled deeply into his pillow. She shakes her head with laughter and follows Went out toward the car. 

xXx

The day is relatively slow and it’s probably a good thing Richie didn’t show up because there really would not have been much for him to do and today is perhaps the best day he could have used in order to catch up on some missed sleep. She thinks she might just call him around lunch and tell him not to make an appearance at the office—not that he needs to on any of the days that he does show up. He does everything without pay and out of the sole goodness of his heart for he knows his presence makes their lives a little easier and brightens the day of frightened kids. 

The last client before she and Went can take their joint lunch break is called back and she is reorganizing some papers, her mind set on calling her son when the phone rings. She blindly answers it, head tilted as a paper of a thicker, more expensive texture meets her fingertips. She holds the corner of it with one hand as she nestles the phone between her shoulder and ear.

“Good Afternoon!” She greets in her best customer service voice. “Smith and Tozier Dental Works, this is Margaret Tozier speaking. How can I help you?”

“Um,” the feminine voice starts, clearly unsettled. They sound young and are probably not used to making their own appointments so Maggie averts her attention away from the thick paper her fingers were previously curled around in order to give her full attention to the audibly anxious client. “I-I’m sorry to bother you… but I…  _ shit _ .”

Maggie’s shoulders drop for a moment and her entire focus is solely on the voice on the other line. Her heart does a violent heave and she feels as if she’s been dunked in Arctic waters. She  _ knows  _ this voice. She cannot quite pinpoint it but it is so widely recognizable to her in a way that does not make sense as her hippocampus struggles to provide any solidified reason why this voice is something she  _ should  _ know. With the cogs going into hard gear in her brain, she realizes that it sounds like a mature version of someone she once knew—but  _ who _ ? 

“Is everything alright?” Maggie asks slowly, not feeling quite alright herself.

They swallow thickly, “I don’t want to upset you but I felt like I needed to call this number. I had a drea—it doesn’t matter.” They huff out quickly. “I think your son is in trouble and needs help,  _ now. _ ”

Maggie feels her stomach lurch and something ghastly in the back of her mind tells her to pick up the luxurious feeling paper she had previously ignored in favor of helping this person she’d briefly thought to be a potential client but is now doing nothing except terrifying her. She touches the paper, slowly pulling it out from under the stack it sits beneath. She feels like she can't catch her breath and closes her eyes. In a thready voice she asks (but oh she knows), “Is this Beverly Marsh?”

“I have to go.” They say quickly, before Maggie can press any further. 

Maggie places the phone back on the base, blood rushing through her ears and hot tears burning the surface of her eyes. Lost. Again. But her mind is on Richie and only him and the words of concern held for her son who should be doing nothing except resting contentedly in his bed. But she knows this can’t be the case as she steadily removes the paper from the middle of the stack. 

Had Maggie consumed anything after breakfast, she would surely be wearing it as a gag tears at her throat at the sight before her.

_ In Loving Memory of Richard Wentworth Tozier _

**March 1976-August 1999**

Below these ghastly words is the worst image she could have ever seen of her son. His eyes are entirely rolled back, his pale skin a waxen grey and gouged with holes that have been inhabited by maggots. There is a single stream of blood flowing from his right nostril. He is most clearly dead in this photo; decaying.

Her jaw begins to quiver as her shoulders surge forward as her stomach wants to expel everything within it but she refuses to break. She doesn't know  _ why  _ but something makes her turn the paper around and she is met with what is the most hateful obituary Maggie has ever read in her life.

**OBITUARY**

_ Richard Tozier _

_ 1976-1999 _

_________________

_ A native to Derry, Maine, Richard Tozier suffered a horrific childhood that was plagued by the abuse of various bullies and incessant self-doubt his oblivious and uncaring parents never once attempted to protect him from. His countless insecurities which were never addressed by his negligent parents warranted him to make very few friends that provided him the only guidance he would ever receive in his dreadfully short life. Such security was wrenched away from him when his reckless mother forcefully removed him from the only person that made him feel safe and left him as a shell of his former self. _

_ Their disregard for their son’s emotional needs left Richie with nobody and nothing to turn to except drugs which spiraled him down a path of substance abuse that would serve to destroy his already sad and pathetic existence.  _

_In the end, because Margaret and Wentworth completely failed to care for their only son, Richie’s addiction, spawned by his mother and father’s inadequacy as parents, ended his minuscule and truly worthless life._

Beneath these wretched words is a drawing of what appears to be a clown with a rather heinous hairline and a sinister smile that nearly seizes her entire body in inexplicable fear. She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to react so strongly to the daunting phone call, these words that validate every worrisome thought she’s had since becoming a mother, and the horrific image of her decomposing son. But she can’t. She doesn’t know if she’s subject to some cruel joke but the racing of her heart and the genuine terror rampaging through her screams that this is all real and that she needs to get home. 

Normally, she might tell Went she’s leaving before their official lunch break (not that anyone could come in now anyway as they always make sure not to schedule more than one person in the one hour block before their lunches) but there is no time. She simply scribbles him a note that reads: “ **Home. Emergency!!!”** She darts out of the office and into her car, all road laws completely out the window as she drives like a true Californian with aggression and impatience fueling each pump of the gas pedal and turn of the steering wheel, the sickening obituary still clutched in the white-knuckled grip of her left hand. 

She swerves the car into the driveway, knocking the taillight off against their mailbox. She doesn’t give a single fuck right now as she sprints into the house screaming for Richie, hoping to hear him respond and to ease all the nerves firing in her fearful body.

Silence.

She quickly grabs a phone, dialing 911 and giving the vaguest and most panicked call they’ve probably ever received in their entire life. She doesn’t even know what to tell them what’s wrong with her son but her mind flickers to what was said on the obituary and she prays she’s wrong but she quickly rattles on that he’s a recovered addict and she thinks he might have taken something he wasn’t supposed to.  _ PLEASE BE WRONG,  _ Maggie internally screams as she relays off her address before slamming the phone back on the base and darting up the stairs toward her son’s bedroom.

She feels detached and frozen once she approaches the door as she is met with a single, red balloon. It is just a plain latex sphere but something about it entrances her and her chest feels hollow and she’s numb from head to toe. She almost feels void of everything—like she’s  _ floating.  _ Her eyes flutter and she can feel them attempting to roll backward but something snaps inside her chest and she forces them open, grabbing the balloon with both fists and with a strength she did not know she possessed (and with the help of her manicured nails), she manages to pop the stupid thing, tossing it to the side.

She attempts to open the door but of course nothing can be easy and it is locked. She jiggles it violently, screaming, “ _ RICHIE! OPEN THE DOOR NOW!”  _

She bangs on the door so hard that she feels the skin of her knuckles rip open but she doesn’t care. She wants to succumb to the panic attack attempting to impede her son’s rescue but she manages to maintain a sense of sanity and her hand automatically reaches into the top knot upon her head and rips out a bobby pin, along with a few strands of blonde but the pain does not register as she bends open the hair accessory and shoves it in the miniscule hole of the door knob.

As she attempts to work the pin through the complex network of the lock, she continues to scream for her son, hoping he will respond but as the silence continues to deafen her, the potential of the obituary left in the car becomes worryingly more realistic. Finally, after twisting and turning her makeshift key, the door clicks and she’s able to swing open the door on the worst thing she’s ever had to see as a mother. Worse than the grotesque image of her decaying son because this, this is  _ real.  _

**(***)**

Richie is sprawled on the ground, his face nearly blue as his body twitches with violent convulsions. Her head is thrown back, blood pooling from his right nostril, his throat giving a strangled rattling sound with each erratic twitch of his prone form. Maggie has read enough text on what an overdose looks like and what her son is exhibiting are the signs just before one takes an individual’s life. She thrusts herself toward him and holds her son close, arms trembling violently, screaming, begging at him to wake up and to please breathe as she attempts to arc his head forward to help his weakened airflow. 

She rocks back and forth with his struggling body. She attempts to stimulate his breathing by rubbing his sternum in gentle circles as she recalls reading back when they were first dealing with his addiction—which she’d thought he was almost entirely recovered from. He’s supposed to work his way to his dream job, find his own home, and live a life he can say he’s happy about but as she stares at his weakening form, she’s starting to realize that none of that may get to happen.

Maggie sobs harder as his lips continue to darken into a steely blue. She begs him to hold on and time seems to move too fast as his life remains on a thin line. The sound of sirens barely penetrate her ears as her focus is on him and she barely registers the sound of heavy steps running toward them until they yank her off her son’s  _ dying  _ body. Someone is holding her back, others are shouting out medical jargon as they rip her son’s shirt to pieces, stabbing a needle into his arm. She faintly hears a whining sound and a horrific scream. She realizes that she is the one screaming and the piercing whine is her son’s failing heart. 

**(***)**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was an interesting read even with the sloppiness in the start. I was really fucking up with how to conveyy what I wanted which sucked and tensing and overall pace (which I always do because I am a sloppier bitch than fucking Pennywise... and PROUD OF IT) 
> 
> The anxieties over this chapter? Hella high bc I took a risk and was like fuck iT CLOWN SHIT. so idk how that will come across. Yikes. also fun because in this timeline, i exist now because we past '98 now. i am but one of the older people of the It fandom and THAT FREAKS ME THE FUCK OUT bc I read some fo the fic on this site and im like wow talent they must be an old wise soul and then they're like yeah i just went to girl scouts and got chicken tenders off the kid's menu at Applebees and I DONT KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT THIS. 
> 
> Also the Titanic story is inspired by Bill Hader and it worked out because Titanic was in theaters for almost a fucking year? LIKE WHAT? It was in theaters from November '97-October '98 and that is MIND BOGGLING TO ME. Like we have to scramble to see movies in theaters now because they stay for what? A max of 2 months even if it is a top grossing film? Like damn. 
> 
> I hope this one was okay!!
> 
> also thank ya for the early birthday wishes. i wish i was turning 6 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this has 10k hits? Heck? Which one of you has a slow computer and accidentally opened it 9,900 times? 
> 
> This chapter do be one of the choppiest and oddly paced and I apologize for that. It was genuinely difficult to figure out how I wanted to go about this portion and I hope it's okay? If not idk roast me? Thank ya for always being nice ass nuggets. You people are too kind for this planet? CHRIST.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the birthday wishes! I am now in my Golden year (I turned 22 on the 22nd) and my Taylor Swift year so I hope it sucks a little less than my 21st year? I played a drinking game to Barry and eventually passed out after 2 white claws and I got funky pants and I can't wait to flex them on Instagram or some shit because they create the illusion of booty. 
> 
> Shit be getting harder and harder to write and I am sTRUGGLING if yA CAN'T FUCKIN TELL. Oooof. I am making attempts and I hope that is evident??? I want it to be decent and I want to complete this fic and I am so paranoid of just dropping it because I literally have NEVER finished a story beyond a one-shot in my entire 22 year of unfortunate existence soooo WE TRYING OUT HERE. 
> 
> I should be taking a hiatus on July 18th for an undetermined time because my trip might get fucked up because no one is respecting CDC guideline and there's been a HUGE spike in new cases. So, WEAR YOUR FUCKING MASKS. thank you.
> 
> TW: Talks of the aftermath of an opioid overdose (again, written by someone who has been there for the aftermath of such) and drug recovery/rehabilitation programs; nothing as gruesome as previous chapters. The rehab program is actually based on the one a family member of mine went to.
> 
> Wake Up by Eden is a good song to listen to while reading this JS. Honestly, just a good song in general.

Maggie knew some things would have to go unanswered.

**August 1999**

Maggie felt absolutely listless as she sat in the waiting room of the hospital. Her body was heavy, her mind numb, and her eyes sore and swollen from the salty tears that had spilled from her ducts. She felt unable to move and whether that be from mental exhaustion after the sheer amount of hysteria she’d been subject to or perhaps the sedative she’d been given in the back of an ambulance as paramedics literally _forced_ life into her son, she was not certain. What she was certain of as she sat there, shoulders hunched, eyes shut, and hands over her face was that she really did not like hospitals. 

Sure she brought her son into existence in the confines of a hospital on the other side of the country and that had been the happiest (and most _physically_ painful) day of her life. She remembers stroking the side of his soft cheek, thinking he was the most beautiful thing in the world despite his head still being oddly cone-shaped from slipping through the birth canal and his blue eyes puffy from living in fluid for nine months. He became the center of her universe the minute he was placed against her chest and she sleepily held onto him, never wanting to let him go. But now, here she was, in a totally different hospital, waiting to hear if she would have to let him go as it was uncertain whether his existence would continue beyond today. Hospitals could bring a life into them but every single visit within one after that life was introduced with a squawking cry, was typically marred by stress and concern. They smelled of antiseptic and sickness. The waiting rooms were dreary and contained under fed fish in tanks, pretty pictures on brochures about not so pretty diseases, and sticky magazines that were from the previous decade and featured celebrities that were dead or no longer in the limelight. The time spent in hospitals felt so detached from reality and was a grueling reminder that life was extremely fragile and each second that ticked by in the chilled rooms was further evidence that life was excruciatingly short and that even the kindest souls, like her Richie, had to fight to maintain that life. 

Hospitals fucking sucked and Maggie wanted nothing more than to have to never step foot in one again. All she wanted was to walk out of there with Richie alive and well.

What really bothered her was the fact that Richie was the same age she’d been when she first held his little body and now he might not even get to live to see another day. She may have to bury her son. No parent should _ever_ outlive their child. She’d been faced with that prospect several times since bringing him into the world but this instance was just so different from previous ones. She was forced to accept that Richie dying was an extremely realistic possibility as she sat in his bedroom, watching as the fourth dose of narcan had refused to take and only a shock to the heart managed to get an unsteady rhythm to start back up and tricked his body into functioning at the bare minimum again. She’d cried hysterically as she was wrapped in a shock blanket, about to climb into the back of an ambulance where they continued shouting medical jargon she was not entirely familiar with, disregarding the harsh stares of the neighbors that stepped out to nosily observe and would probably continue their regularly scheduled gossip about the “Tozier’s junkie son.” 

She didn’t care what anyone thought of her son. Richie was her pride and joy. He meant the entire world to her and she longed to see him live a long life. She wanted to be older and greyer than she was now and to hold his own aging hand and know she had raised him right and had done a good job as a mom but perhaps that was not the case. Maybe the words in that cruelly written obituary regarding her negligence and failure as a mother were indeed true and not just some ploy to induce trauma and fear. She was not sure. She hoped she hadn’t been too late and she could somehow help her son get better and to prove that she was an adequate parent.

She’s driven away from her thoughts as rushed footsteps dart across the waiting room and a pair of knees drop before her, a faint cracking sounding from the joints.

“Maggie?” Went’s voice breathes out, panic evident in his voice. She groggily opens her eyes and meets his distressed brown ones and feels a jolt in her heart as she reads the features that are too much like her dying son’s (sans the feminine touch she’d given Richie in his sharp cheekbones, soft eyes, and dainty nose). “What’s going on? You… you didn’t tell me anything over the phone.” 

Oh, that’s right. She had called him. She’d been completely void of emotion and provided little detail for her mouth could not reiterate how it felt to see her son’s lips darkening into a steely blue or the guttural death rattle that she’d hear in her nightmares for the rest of her life. All she said was to come to the hospital and then dropped herself in the chair she was currently still in. 

“He died.” She manages, swallowing thickly. “He was dead. I-I don’t know where he is now.” Her eyes burn as she looks at him and perhaps the sedative is wearing off because a surge of anguish clenches in her chest and she allows her head to fall forward upon his chest, a sob passing her lips as he wraps her arms around her. She can feel her own shoulder growing damp as Went succumbs to his own emotions. They sit there, sobbing at a volume that is acceptable for a hospital waiting room, attempting to wrap their minds around the idea that they could quite possibly leave this place without their son and devolve into two _former_ parents. 

Eventually, the wave of tears comes to a halt due to the fact that their minds are genuinely too distraught to even call forth such intense feelings, leaving them numb and because they are definitely far too dehydrated to produce anymore tears. Went slowly, without fully detaching his body from hers, maneuvers himself into the chair next to her. She sinks against his chest, slipping her hand into his and then they continue to wait for something, hopefully positive, about the state of their son. He moves his fingers through the tangled state of her curls and she feels the slight rapidity of his heart—anxiety. They sit in silence, throats raw from crying and minds wandering to dark places.

She can feel exhaustion weighing on her and maybe she would have dozed off if a calm voice had not called for the “Family of Richard Tozier?” Her gut gives a violent lurch at that. Most families that have also taken up in the same waiting room seem to receive uplifting news that leaves their shoulders slumped with relief and elicit blessed laughs while _in_ the waiting room. Families that get called back rarely return from the doors and if they do, it’s _hours_ later and they are clearly despondent and weighed down by news that no one wants to be burdened with. She wants the doctor to come to their two chairs and tell them everything is okay so they too can beam with excitement and hug each other in celebration of their son beating the odds set before him. Sure, it would be a long road after such festivities, but Maggie would be willing to walk barefoot across miles of broken glass for Richie to have a better future— _if_ he got to even live to see a future of any sort.

She lifts herself up off the seat, throat thick with sobs that want to will their way past her lips as she anticipates the very worst. Her mind goes to eerie places like what suit would be best suited for her son to wear in a coffin and will the mortician be willing to pluck the slight unibrow he’s got going on? What would become of her and Went? Would his death cause their marriage to crumble? How could they heal from such a devastating loss—how did the Denbroughs manage? Oh that’s right. They didn’t. They neglected their only living son until they came to their senses and then they left town with him and now there was no one she could potentially find solace in. Her life has revolved around Richie for the past twenty-three years—hell even the nine months preceding his physical existence were almost solely about him. What purpose would she even have if she lost the ability to call herself a mother?

She has Went’s bicep in a bruising grip but he doesn’t try to shake her off. He has tears silently rolling down his cheeks and jaw set tightly as they’re taken around the corner away from the rooms of other patients. It feels like the news they’re about to receive will be even more horrific with the growing distance from the rest of the patients and Maggie wants nothing more than to rid herself of the self control she’s been instilled with as a proper adult and scream herself hoarse. A male doctor with greying hair waits for them, clipboard in hand and his expression is difficult to read.

He releases a long breath as the nurse turns away to go about her other duties. “Your son is _extremely_ lucky.” 

“Oh my God.” Maggie gasps out, slumping against her husband as relief bleeds through her so quickly; she knows she would have collapsed without his solid support. 

“We’re sorry it took so long.” The doctor continues, a smile quirking up the side of his face. “The immediate recovery from a heroin overdose and the comedown from narcan can be quite brutal to witness and it does take some time to get the patient fully coherent again and we generally do not like to force parents to witness that as things can still go wrong as their heart rhythm tends to be seriously erratic for a while.” He glances up at them and goes on once Maggie and Went give a nod of understanding. “He’s doing about as good as someone can after something like this and he should be able to go home tonight, but based on his medical history, I understand he has had a history of a drug problem which included past use of other opioids.”

Went gives a reluctant shake of his head. “Up until now, he’s been completely sober for the last year and a half.”

“With all due respect, it’s surprising he didn’t relapse sooner.” He sighs. “Relapses, unfortunately, seems to be a common part of the recovery process.”

“We were told this.” Maggie says softly. “We just thought we were out of the woods at this point.”

“Truth be told, you’ll probably never be entirely out of the woods with him. It’s always a possibility no matter how well he’s doing as we can clearly see here.” This doctor isn’t doing anything to sugarcoat Richie’s prognostic future as a recovering addict. Maggie can’t decide if she appreciates it or is slightly miffed by the bluntness. 

“What does all of this mean for Richie?” Went inquires, preventing Maggie from ruminating too deeply about the doctor’s attitude and potentially snapping.

“Well, I can see he did an outpatient recovery program and continues to see a therapist about once a month here. That did seem to work for him especially as it is noted that this type of treatment was recommended for him.”

“Richie gets a little out of sorts when he’s away from us for too long.” Went explains. “He actually first got into drugs when he was away at college.”

The doctor hums in acknowledgement. “So, outpatient seemed ideal for him. Honestly, after someone overdoses and since we can’t really determine if it was entirely accidental or… purposeful,” Maggie feels a shock of ice in her system at that mere suggestion. “We generally believe it is best for an individual to get into an inpatient rehabilitation program.” He pulls out a pamphlet. “There is a facility solely dedicated to drug and alcohol rehabilitation in San Juan Capistrano. It is about an hour away from here and they have 30, 60, and 90 day programs. Given Richie’s history, I would probably recommend the 90 day one.”

“Is that his only option right now?” Maggie questions.

The doctor shakes his head. “No. Richie can do whatever he so desires. Just talking to you and looking at his file, I know he is in excellent hands.” Maggie somehow doubts that but logically she knows that such feelings have something to do with the obituary she’d read earlier. “I understand you’ll want to discuss his future treatment with him and that is fine. There is no timeframe here, but I would suggest getting him back in a thorough, hands-on treatment program as soon as possible. Whatever you decide, we can help provide any guidance or answer any questions you may possibly have.”

“Thank you. We really appreciate it.” Went responds graciously. 

“It’s my pleasure.” He offers a kind smile. “Now, I assume you’d like to see him. I will forewarn you that he probably does not look the best and will most likely be ill for the next fews. Not unlike what he went through in his first detox, but definitely not as severe since he’s not been using again for very long. He is in a recovery room just four doors down, on the left. I already left some discharge papers in the room for whenever he wants to leave tonight and if you need anything else from me, just hit the nurse’s call button and someone will be sure to fetch me.”

“Thank you, again.” Went repeats. The two of them then make their way in the direction toward their son’s room. 

Maggie steps in first, and while she is relieved beyond words that he’s alive, she feels immediate sadness at how dreadful he looks in his bed. His eyes, visibly bloodshot behind his lenses, even from across the room, are encapsulated with bruise-like circles and his cheeks look grey and sullen. His hair is a mess and he is obviously in a state of physical discomfort if the grimace that distorts the smile he gives them is any evidence.

“Oh honey,” Maggie whimpers as she takes two long strides toward him and pulls him into her chest. She distances herself slightly in order to place her hands on his neck, just to be certain that there is a steady pulse beneath the surface of his pale skin. It is there—slightly fast but that is definitely the result of excitement (and quite possibly, anxiety) from seeing her and Wentworth. 

“Hi mom.”He croaks, smiling feebly at her. 

“Why?” She cannot help but ask as Went takes his turn in pulling their son into a long hug and choking out his own sob. 

Went lets go slowly, nodding in agreement with Maggie’s question, just wanting to know what possessed Richie to relapse after nearly two whole years of sobriety. What could have possibly led him to go off the edge so quickly?

“I don’t know.” Richie admits and Maggie wants to accuse him of lying but there is true sincerity and fear in his voice. “I was going to go to the office but then suddenly I was downtown and I-I bought _it_ and then I think I blacked out because I remember being in my room again and I felt funny and I was going to call the ambulance but then I just fell down and I… I thought I was gonna die.” 

“Were you already high before you left the house?” Went questions in a non-accusatory voice. 

“No.” Richie says truthfully. “I have not used _anything_ for the last two years. I haven’t even taken fucking ibuprofen or tylenol.”

“You truly have no idea how you got there or how you got the stuff?” Maggie asks slowly. She wants to believe him. She really does. He seems so stunned and like he himself cannot believe what has happened but nothing really adds up in the grand scheme of things. He had to have known where he was going if he was able to find a drug dealer with enough heroin to overdose on. 

“I don’t, no.” Richie answers. “I was… I was doing so well.” His voice breaks and his shoulders shake with the force of his own emotions. 

“Hey, you have been and you still are.” Went reassures, rubbing his hand in between his shoulder blades. “We’re so proud of you, Richie. But,” He sighs and Richie tenses. “You know what has to be done.”

Richie looks at both of them, eyes wet. He nods. “I know.” He bites his lip. 

Maggie pulls out the brochure for the facility the doctor told them about. 

xXx

**September 1999**

Without any fight left in his system and a desire to never repeat the nightmare of that August afternoon, Richie easily agrees to go into the 90 day inpatient program for drug rehabilitation and therapy. He had immediately broken down into sobs when he realized he would be institutionalized and not permitted visitors for the first thirty days of his program. What also hurt him was the fact that Richie’s internship that’d been awaiting him for the last several months was now out of the question for the time being because his focus needed to be on nothing except recovering from the addiction that seemed to still have its claws sunk into the most hidden corners of his mind. 

They were able to write him letters and have scheduled phone calls but there was still an empty feeling that burdened Maggie and her husband with each day spent without Richie. They knew it was for the best as the facility was designed to distance the patient from any potential triggers (what those were for Richie, they still could not quite determine) and to find other techniques along with regular talk therapy, to make the recovery process easier and to reclaim an existence that was healthful and revolved around something that brought enough joy to make the euphoria induced by drug and alcohol use seem miniscule and worthless in comparison. Sure, even the best programs could still yield in future relapses, but that was also to be acknowledged in the program. Hopefully, the August relapse was the first and last one they’d have to ever witness Richie go through again because Maggie does not believe she has the mental capacity to witness something like that ever again. 

She still has nightmares about seeing Richie fighting (and nearly losing the battle) for his life on his bedroom floor. But that wasn’t the only thing that tended to plague her dreams unfortunately. She could not get the phone call from Beverly Marsh warning her about the danger her son had been in that day and the disturbing obituary out of her head no matter how hard she tried. 

She had managed to take down the phone number with the help of Caller ID but each time she attempted to call the number back, the call immediately failed no matter where she attempted to make the call. Maggie had even written the number out for a different receptionist to call, thinking it had somehow been related to her interference but even her bemused coworker had been unsuccessful in calling the redhead she still considered to be a long lost daughter.

The obituary was presently shoved into the glove box where she’d quickly stashed it when Went and Richie had gotten in the car after Richie was discharged from the hospital and had to go home to pack for his stay at the rehab center. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t looked at it since dropping Richie off. She was never certain if she had actually seen the paper and read such horrific words but it still existed and it still served as a reminder of how she could have possibly failed her son if she’d been a second too late. 

The weight of the phone call and the sickening image of Richie decomposing on the front of the paper were truly taking their toll on her the more she thought of it. She really did not want to tell Went about it but the more she succumbed to the stress it brought her and the more he took note of it, the more she realized it was not something she could keep to herself any longer. 

“I need to tell you something.” She approaches him in the office they’ve created in the basement where Went is presently organizing some of their bills and Richie’s final tuition payments. The obituary is tucked underneath her armpit, still _very_ real and still _very_ haunting to her. 

“Hmm?” He says, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he lifts his head up to meet her eyes. “You alright, Mags?”

“No.” She answers honestly. “I’m not.” She heaves a deep breath from the pit of her stomach. “Beverly Marsh is the one who told me about Richie the day he overdosed.”

“What?” Went drops the pen in his hand, and his eyes widen almost comically. “Beverly Marsh—like, the redhead from Derry?”

“Do we know any other Beverlys?” Went is silent. “She called that day and she just said she felt like she needed to call the office and said Richie needed help and then when I asked for her name… she hung up.”

“You’re sure it was her?” He presses.

“Positive.” She sighs. “I’ve tried to call the number back since… and nothing. Every single call fails, Went.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Went rakes his fingers through his hair. “That makes no sense.”

“I-It gets worse.” She shifts uncomfortably, the obituary suddenly feeling like a two-ton weight in her hands. “Before I left, I found this on the desk.” Trembling fingers place the paper into steady ones.

Went quickly loses color just upon seeing the grotesque image of their decaying son and goes nearly grey upon reading the back portion. “What the _fuck_ is this?” He gasps, choking as he nearly begins to gag. 

“I don’t know. It was just _there_.”

“Who the fuck put it there.”

“Went, I don’t know.” She cries. “I picked up the phone and I saw the corner of it and then I read it and… I knew I needed to leave the office.”

“Get rid of it.” He insists, shoving it at her. “We cannot have _that_ in our house.”

“No.” She snaps. “What if it means something, Went? What if this is linked to all the other weird ass shit?”

“Like what?” He demands, exasperated. 

“The overdose. Beverly Marsh fucking calling me after what? Six years? All of his friends never calling? Richie forgetting Eddie the _second_ we were out of Maine?” She thinks for a second. “Mike Hanlon knew something was up, Went. Remember? He knew something was messed up about that town and that’s why he stopped hanging out with Richie before we left. He was trying to figure it out. Mike _knew_ there was something that was making everyone forget.”

“Well, why didn’t we forget?”

“I don’t know. Something happened to those kids that made them forget.”

“What do you think it could be?” Went starts, tearing at his bottom lip with his front teeth. 

“I haven’t the faintest idea, Went.” She sighs, wiping furiously at her eyes.

xXx

They don’t bring it up much after that rather heavy discussion. It’s completely beyond them and they have no idea where to start in terms of figuring out how Beverly Marsh could have known to contact them or how the hell the obituary (with words Went had to reassure her for hours upon hours that they were indeed false and simply an attack upon them) came from and how the hell it fell into their possession. Instead, they began focusing their energy on handling the empty feeling that came with not having their loud mouth son inhabiting their home any longer. It was significantly different than having a son, who’d been unruly at the time, away at college and edging toward the phase of becoming empty-nesters. 

Richie was in a place he had not necessarily _wanted_ to go to, as he had been when he’d gone off to college but a place he ultimately _had_ to go to. Sure he had a desire to get better but he definitely would have preferred to continue his recovery in an outpatient setting—in the comforts of his own home. But per the suggestion of his doctors, Richie was more than willing to spend the next three months in a facility to nip any lingering desires for drugs (which he still stated he had none) right in the bud even if it meant being away from home and giving up the freedoms he had outside of the institution. 

Despite his determination, Maggie could sense that Richie was incredibly sad during each of their regularly scheduled phone calls.

“Yeah and they’ve been making me work out more because of something with endorphins.” Richie told her one evening, sounding a little off to her trained, motherly ear.

“Your last therapist suggested that, right?” She asks, remembering the “jogs” he used to take.

“Yeah but I was kinda shitty at actually doing it. _Here,_ they are watching me and are making sure I’m not like half-assing the workout.” Richie snorts halfheartedly. “I’m gonna come home completely ripped, you just wait.”

“I don’t think your genetics will allow you to get built per se, but if you can get some muscle on those noodle arms, I’ll be proud.”

Richie giggles at that but it sounds flat. Not as void and lifeless as he’d sounded when he was attending UCLA, but not nearly as excitable and genuine as what he would have uttered had he still been in their care. That is not to say that Richie shouldn’t remain in the facility—he should—but Maggie knows Richie is a homebody. 

“I think I will.” He huffs. A pregnant pause. “I miss you guys.”

Maggie feels her heart drops and she glances up at Went who just finished talking in a variety of accents with their son in order to get him laughing but clearly the joy induced by his father has already diminished. The smile that had settled upon his face after his conversation with their son falters at his wife’s solemn expression. 

“We miss you too sweetheart.” She tells him. “We’re so proud of you for doing this.”

“How?” He chokes suddenly and Maggie wants nothing more than to drive over there and hold him in her arms as he breaks down. “I’m a failure. I nearly killed myself and am costing you guys all this fucking money and I lost the job I had and now I have _nothing_ to do with myself when I get out of here. I’m just… I’m becoming absolutely nothing and I don’t know what to do.”

“Hey, no.” She pleads, wiping away her tears as Went drapes his arms over her narrow shoulders. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to figure out what you’re meant to do and we’ve talked to your boss—”

“Oh God mom. That is _so_ embarrassing. I’m an adult. You’re not supposed to do that shit for me anymore.”

“Richie, hush up. You’re always gonna be my baby and if I can help you out, I’m going to. I explained the situation and—don’t you groan at me, young man—the hiring agent was extremely understanding and reassured me the position would still be open come November if you are still interested.” Richie is quiet. “They liked you a lot and saw a lot of potential in you, so stop ragging on yourself.” 

“Thanks.” He mumbles meekly. “I just… I feel like such a screw up.”

“Well, you’re _not._ ” She states. “You’re doing this because you don’t want to be a screw up and your father and I are both so proud of you. We know it’s hard to be away from home but you’re still doing this and it’ll all be worth it in the end, Rich.”

“What if I mess up again?” 

“I don’t think you will,” but he could and she shouldn’t set any unnecessary expectations for him, “but if you do, we’re going to get through it again. This is nothing to be ashamed of, Richie. We love you and we’re going to be all together again soon, alright?”

He sniffles. “I love you guys.” 

“We both love you too, sweetie.” Went smiles down at her, rubbing away a stray tear that must have slipped past the surface of her eyes.

“I have to go. My thirty minutes are up.” He hiccups. “Now I get to go back and look like a complete disaster.”

“Still as cute as a button.” She teases. He groans. “You’ll be okay, hon.”

“Thanks.” He chuckles more authentically. “Talk to you, soon.” 

xXx

**October 1999**

It’s a rare day that southern California is blessed with a torrential downpour but Maggie is content with it beyond the essential environmental factors rain holds when washing over their dried out town. It feels like the dreary weather is a current reflection of her present emotional state as she slumps down against their couch, mascara smudged beneath long lashes and cheeks stained red from heavy sobs that choked her up through her and Went’s entire ride home from the facility. 

They were finally permitted visitation on weekends and today had been their first time seeing their son since he was first admitted. Yes, she was thankful to have seen him but leaving him after such a long period without being able to was extremely rough to say the least. When visitation hours were officially over, her heart had immediately sunk and she’d held onto her son, her healthy looking son, wearing a sad smile because he knew he would be without his parents again. She never wanted to let him go but did so anyway because Maggie was not one to make a scene.

The visit was a nice one. Maggie could not argue that. Seeing Richie caused her entire body to feel lighter and her mind clearer. He looked healthier than she had ever seen him—even when he was under their care since the nutritionists here probably did not let Richie get away with eating an entire jar of his allergy-friendly SunButter the way she and Went often did. He was starting to fill out more than he had from his initial recovery. He hadn’t been emaciated upon entry like he was just two years ago, but he still was a little too peaky for her liking but the jutting bones were now covered with a healthy layer of fat and when Maggie had hugged her son she could immediately feel the firmness of muscle that he’d really never had before. He was still a string bean—Richie would have this body type well into his thirties—but he was toned and almost glowing. Maggie could only wonder how much better he would continue to look once the 90 days were up. 

He’d been smiling brightly, enthusiastically telling them the kind of stuff he’d gotten to do since admission. He’d gotten into writing while there and had started writing more jokes which he allowed them to read through and they were actually _really_ funny and Went had to excuse himself when he began choking on his water after reading some of them. They had also gotten the patients to engage in some art therapy and although his work was all parts of abysmal, he’d gotten to paint some interesting “abstract” pictures which Maggie and Went immediately detected a constant phallic theme to them even if Richie and the other orderlies were completely oblivious. Maybe he’d figure himself out eventually. There was no rush.

Richie was full of energy and it was truly a relief to see him visibly thriving in here given his initial fears regarding inpatient treatment. However, the happiness did melt away as they were informed that they only had thirty minutes left before the patients needed to return to their regularly scheduled therapy sessions and visitors had to leave.

“Thanks for coming.” He says in a mild voice, a sharp contrast from his bubbly rambling from seconds ago.

“Of course, Rich.”Went says, dropping an arm over his son’s shoulder. “We’ve been looking forward to this since we first got you here.” He offers a kind smile. “We’re so proud of how well you’re doing here.”

“I know. I am too.” He squirms. Here comes the ‘but…’ “But, I shouldn’t _have_ to be here.”

“Sweetie, this is nothing to be ashamed of. We told you this.” Maggie whispers to him, cupping his jaw in her hands. She feels a slight roughness behind her palms that can only come from shaving. Seems like the facial hair growth Richie had never gotten (and chronically complained about) during puberty finally kicked in. 

“I know.” He groans. “I just feel like I shouldn’t even have to be here. I was doing well and yeah maybe this is helping me get even better than I was, but I just feel like there was no reason for all of that… that stuff in August to have even happened.”

There’s not. Maggie knows that and the fact that her son senses that makes her chest jolt violently. There _is_ something else at play here that manifested this sudden spiral in her son’s recovery and she’s attempted to let it go and accept that there isn’t much she can do. But she can’t do that anymore. She won’t, she decides as she takes in his distraught expression. 

“I know, Rich.” She sighs. “It’s okay. We only have two more months and you’ll be home and this will never happen again.” She won’t let it. She’s going to figure this out and make sure it _can’t_.

It’s painful to say goodbye. They hadn’t been able to see him for a month and Richie’s sad face is enough to shatter her heart as she tearfully waves him goodbye and heads toward the car where she allows all dams, built up to create the illusion of strength for the sake of her son, to break down and to cry miserably the entire drive home while Went attempts to reassure her through his own choked words. She knows he’ll be home before they even realize the time that has gone by, but it still hurts to leave him behind—especially when he thinks and she _knows_ he shouldn’t have to be there in the first place.

It’s hard to find the energy to start conducting her own research to get to the bottom of all of this especially when she feels so mentally drained from the sadness that quickly eradicated the joy from seeing Richie’s excited face. So she grants herself the privilege to do nothing and to lay against Went’s chest as rain smacks against the windows and the living room grows darker with the clouds covering the autumn sun and their lack of motivation to flick on at least one of the lamps. 

She must have dozed off at some point because one second her eyes were burning with a new round of tears and the next she feels the uncomfortable pressure of Went’s shirt buttons pressing into her cheek as he snores softly with his head arched back in a position that will certainly warrant a massage from her later that evening. She slowly pulls herself away, wincing as her shoulders strain from the shift in position. She rubs at the side of her face, cringing at the flaky dried drool that slips beneath her jawline. The living room is nearly pitch black and she’s not certain of the time but now feels like a good time as any to start making strives toward figuring out the mystery of Derry and hopefully finding a reason for Richie’s unexplained relapse, the amnesia, and of course, the phone call from Bev and the obituary that currently inhabits the bottom of her nightstand drawer. 

With quiet movements that only developed as a result of creeping around her son’s crib back in the 70s, she manages to sneak downstairs toward Went’s computer desk without waking up her sleeping husband. They only just got the computer when Went and his partner decided to get some technological upgrades in the dental office. Went elected to take the computer home for their own personal use. They didn’t use it that often but Went claimed it was helpful for any at-home work which actually translated to him using it to play Spider Solitaire when he was supposed to be doing something a little more productive. 

She slips into the chair, readjusting the height of the seat from her husband’s giraffe-like height to something more comfortable for her own tall, but not nearly as gargantuan height. 

“Alright,” she murmurs, typing **Derry, Maine** into a search bar and finds... _nothing._ No articles about the town. No maps that feature it within the state of Maine. Nothing that suggests this seventh layer of hell even exists. “What?” She hits refresh several more times, continuing to find absolutely nothing on the town they once inhabited. 

“What the hell?” She hisses as she continues to find absolutely nothing. **Beverly Marsh.** Nothing except the obituaries and news articles about some old grandmothers that lack the same spunky expression and firey hair. **William Denbrough. Stanley Uris. Benjamin Hanscom. Michael Hanlon. Eddie Kaspbrak.** Nothing. She tries searching for their parents. Nothing. She knows she remembers these people and she knows she previously lived in this godforsaken town—she still has the nightmares to remind her of it. 

She tears her fingers through her hair, frustration bubbling in the pit of her stomach as her heart begins to race with inexplicable anxiety. These people exist. She’s done countless things to track them down but _nothing._ She’s mailed letters to that stupid town but nothing. Mike knew something was wrong with that place and she’d dismissed it as anguish for friends that might not have been as true as the kids wanted them to be. But that belief was her own stupidity. Those kids loved each other and would go to the ends of the Earth for one another—unless something prevented them from doing so. Bev was the reason her son was still alive but according to the world wide web, she didn’t even fucking exist. 

She bites her lip furiously and thinks back to the obituary of her son. It dawns upon her. Why was there a clown on the bottom of it? _That_ made no sense. Why was there a red balloon in the house when she came home? _Those_ were the funny shaped puzzle pieces with weird edges that didn’t quite fit into the picture she was trying to make sense of; but they were essential pieces in seeing it. She felt certain of that. 

She huffs out a breath and types: **Derry Maine Clown.** Normally, while their computer isn’t necessarily the fastest, it _rarely_ lags to this extent. Her heart begins to race and she feels a cold sweat breaking out under her arms and at the nape of her neck. Finally the screen loads up and Maggie wants to scream. The screen is filled with the same images featured on the obituary of her son’s decaying face. They’re repeated endlessly no matter how far she continues to scroll down, shoulders shaking in genuine terror.

Suddenly, words begin appearing across the screen and she yanks her hands back just because she’s not sure if somehow she’s doing this. She’s not.

**HE DIES IF YOU TRY HE DIES IF YOU TRY HE DIES IF YOU TRY HE DIES IF YOU TRYH̶͖̲̏̆Ë̴̹́̑ ̸̡͘͜D̶̝̞̈́̀I̸̯̎̇Ę̵̬̓S̸͕̙͒ ̷̛̼̒ͅÍ̵͎̫̀F̶͎̆̀ ̶͈́Y̷̖̓Ó̶̧̀Ư̵̧̪̋ ̸͇̲̈́͠T̸̻͊͑R̴̡̩̐̚Y̴̯̒ ̶̲̂Ḥ̴̈́͐Ȅ̵̹ ̵͕͗D̴̗͌Ḯ̶͔͈E̵̹̅͘S̵̛̭͋ ̴͓͉̈́̕I̸̞͌F̸̙̈́ ̸̜̩̎Y̷͕̔Ȏ̸͚U̵͚̍͝ ̵͙T̶̤̈́͝H̷̭͎͚͇̻̹̤̘̯̪̞̭̘͙͚̋̌̍͝E̵̛̹͓̺̺̤̩̱̤̯̘̞̜̫͊̿̓̐̐͊͋͒͠͝ ̶̦̤̤̀̀̓͆̎͘̚͘͝D̸͔͉̳̙̯̜̣̣̳̳̯̖̀̀̉͐̓͂̒̔̊̔̎̃̉͛͂̅͘Ȉ̶̧̩̹̬̱̥͇͈̯̦̞̚Ë̸̱̩̻͔̹̫͉̦̖̙́̑͐͛͘S̶̠̤͈͈̮̣͓̱̮̜̘̦̘͓͍̈́̀̈́̏͑͜ ̶̨̢̟͙̼͖̬̫̦̆̔͒̀̿̃͌̈́̊̎͑͑̐̿̀̚͘Ị̷̧̟͖̮̦̟̱̟̮̪̳̀̐̉̊̽̉̈́̏F̵̧̛͇͓̣̲̙̳͚͍͉̞͖͖̽́͒̎̆̎̐̾̑́͘̚͜ͅ ̸̡̲̟̫̍Y̵̬̘̞̪̮̬͕̽̓̈̄̅͊́̓̈̂́͘̚Ơ̸̜̩̹̭͙͍͖̘̠͉̬̈̎̿̇́̀͝U̵͉͚͓̯͊͂̈́̒̈́̃͊͌͐̋̂͠͠ ̴͍͍̑̌̇T̵̛̼̭̝̘̘̎̎̑̂͛͗̊̉̈͊̍͘̚͝R̴̘̿̀͆͊̇̋̑͆͘͝Y̶̟̪͉̟̜͓͈͍̍̑ͅ ̴̧͕̘͈̗͎̣͖̦̝͉͗̌͂́̅̅̃͒͘H̶̨̛̻̫̿͋̏́̑̒È̶̡̧̗̣͓͚̫̙͙̲̙̜̖͖̻ ̷͕̃̈͑̇̍̆͂̓̈́̐̚͝͝D̵̥̰́̈̉̀́̇̀͛͘͘I̸͉̎͌̉͛͒̈́̿́͐̑́̾̈̚Ȩ̵̢̱̱̝̪̘͕̥̯͙̲͚̟͍̈́́̎͂͒͛̓̌̐̍̚͜͠͠S̴̡̤̠͓̞̞̼̻͍͇̞̞̦̀̿̆̍̎̈́̋̈̉̍̍͂̉̓̀̒͠ͅͅͅ ̶̧̡͔͕̘̟̦̯̟͙̠̘͔̤̥̆̓̉̒̃̽̓͒͜I̵͎̲͚̋̈̋̌̀̂ͅF̷̧̨͎̲̦̙̼̱͓͔̻̲̹͎̀̊̓͊̏́̈́̀͒͆͐̕͜͜͠ ̵̧͖̙͓͖͔̖̠̮͇͊̆̒́̌̎̏̓̑̒̋́͜Y̵̢͉̙͕͙̰̻̳̲̫͙̗̩͉̔͛͂̇̓̐̅̎̅̀͊́̄̇̚͝Ơ̵̡̼̬̗̫̣͙̞̗̘̅̐̾͒̋̌͛́̉̕͝ͅͅÚ̶̻͇̝͉ͅ ̵̼̝̙̬̻͎̄̊̈́͒̕͘͝ͅT̸̫̲͖̦̞͉͈̗̤͕̜̣͓͐̈́̑͛̐̔́̓̒̂̂́̈́͘͝͝R̵̦̭̪͉̣͈͍̪̝̗͇̦͐̔̊ͅY̶̧̛̞͙̻͎͈͎̻̥̬̪̺͓͉͙͖̅͑̽̐̐̉̄͗̓̋̀͘̚̚͠ ̶̡̢̛̥̜̺͔̤̯̼͔̞͈̒͛̈̾͆͋̽̑̇H̵̨͙̟̹̤̜̻͙̿́̂̚E̴̡͈͍͕̰͍̬̭̲̰͉͓̗͈̯̽̾͛̔͌͌̀̇̃͒̚͘̚͝ ̶̡̡̡̬̫̺͓̌̓͊̌̀̉͆̈́̈́̃̚̚͝Ḑ̵̨͕͇̪̠̪͎̠͈͎̯̞̃̇̽̄̐̋̈́̓̈́͗̏̌̌́́̈ͅͅI̸̛̳̦̠̘͕̬̰̦̤͇̘͛̀̏̎͌͊̈̅̆̊̐̽̑͘̚͘ͅE̶̢̨͙̭̥̯̹͙̣̞͓͓͈̣͓̯̤͂̆̽̓̑͋́̈́͂̾̐͘͝͠S̵̙̣̟̒̿͂̓̉̕̕ ̷̢̛̭̩͎̖̼̰̬̲̗͈̍̌͋̋̂́̇̏̑̽̊͆͜͝͝I̶̡̨̺̻͍̠̦̜̪̦̟͍̗̖̝̘̒͐̓͗̔̿̓͐̊̃͋͝͠͝F̷̤̼̫̮̪͒͗̓̎̉̽͂̓͋͂̕̚ ̷̢̙͎̼̻͎͔͙̓̑̉̈́̑́̐͂̆͂̑̑̅̄͝͝͝Ÿ̸̢̡̢̛̗̫̻̣̱̻̦̳̠̮̰̗́͌́̈̇̇̅̑̾̈́͋̒̒ͅỢ̶̪̂̑͌̒͐͋Ù̷̢̨̬̦̜̩͖̇͆́͐̒̂͑̚͘ͅ ̴̡͉̳̳͙̘̙̲̩̠̮͍̆́T̶̢̼͓̜̦̥͌͌̐̌̓̿̀̔̇̏͂̑̕͝ͅR̵̯̅̈́̇͊͘Y̶̨͚̘̤̯͓͎̰͙̬̓͋̌̋͘͝ͅ ̸̣͕̯̬͎͉̎̾̎̓̏͌̚͝H̵͇̣̼̘̖̭͐̇̎̀̈́̇́́̽́̋̕͘̕ͅȨ̸͈̪̺̪̺͚̹̐̔́̌̏̄͂̂̀̋͒̾̓̀̕̚ͅ ̸̡͕̦̖̦͚̤̦̗͉͙̟͉̖͇̙̾ͅD̵̢̢̨̨̡̤͔͉̫̞͙͉̰̜͕͋͜I̶̡̡̺̯͉͙̳̣͔̖̦̮̔̾̄͛̊͜E̷̫̰̫͕̣̭̭̥̺͈͐͆̓̇̐̋̂͒S̷̛͆̓͂̂̓̈͆͊̆́̆̎̃̇̿̀ͅ ̴̧̧̙̯͓͐Ì̵̜̮̟̝̞͉̯̓͐͗͆F̵̡̛̯̻̲̘̟̱͉̦̟̅͑̾̊̌̑͊ͅ ̴̛̛͈̜̄͐̈́̑Y̵̘̞̯̪̻̬̖̳̗̜̜̼͕͗Ó̵̝̋̿̽̎͌̏͒̏̂̈́́͊͌͘͝U̷̘̼̿͌̄̔͒̿̇͌̎͛ ̸̺̞̟̾̈́̇̈́̅T̶̯͕͇͙͈̞̣̼͉̮̔̽͒͘͜R̶̡̨͔̦̦̗͕͛̆̑̾͑̎̑͛̄̅̔́̔̿͑̾Y̷̧͓̗͚̍̀̈́̀̂̋̍̄̈́̏̐̅͘͜͝͝ͅR̸̩͆Y̸̺̳̓H̷̭͎͚͇̻̹̤̘̯̪̞̭̘͙͚̋̌̍͝E̵̛̹͓̺̺̤̩̱̤̯̘̞̜̫͊̿̓̐̐͊͋͒͠͝ ̶̦̤̤̀̀̓͆̎͘̚͘͝D̸͔͉̳̙̯̜̣̣̳̳̯̖̀̀̉͐̓͂̒̔̊̔̎̃̉͛͂̅͘Ȉ̶̧̩̹̬̱̥͇͈̯̦̞̚Ë̸̱̩̻͔̹̫͉̦̖̙́̑͐͛͘S̶̠̤͈͈̮̣͓̱̮̜̘̦̘͓͍̈́̀̈́̏͑͜ ̶̨̢̟͙̼͖̬̫̦̆̔͒̀̿̃͌̈́̊̎͑͑̐̿̀̚͘Ị̷̧̟͖̮̦̟̱̟̮̪̳̀̐̉̊̽̉̈́̏F̵̧̛͇͓̣̲̙̳͚͍͉̞͖͖̽́͒̎̆̎̐̾̑́͘̚͜ͅ ̸̡̲̟̫̍Y̵̬̘̞̪̮̬͕̽̓̈̄̅͊́̓̈̂́͘̚Ơ̸̜̩̹̭͙͍͖̘̠͉̬̈̎̿̇́̀͝U̵͉͚͓̯͊͂̈́̒̈́̃͊͌͐̋̂͠͠ ̴͍͍̑̌̇T̵̛̼̭̝̘̘̎̎̑̂͛͗̊̉̈͊̍͘̚͝R̴̘̿̀͆͊̇̋̑͆͘͝Y̶̟̪͉̟̜͓͈͍̍̑ͅ ̴̧͕̘͈̗͎̣͖̦̝͉͗̌͂́̅̅̃͒͘H̶̨̛̻̫̿͋̏́̑̒È̶̡̧̗̣͓͚̫̙͙̲̙̜̖͖̻ ̷͕̃̈͑̇̍̆͂̓̈́̐̚͝͝D̵̥̰́̈̉̀́̇̀͛͘͘I̸͉̎͌̉͛͒̈́̿́͐̑́̾̈̚Ȩ̵̢̱̱̝̪̘͕̥̯͙̲͚̟͍̈́́̎͂͒͛̓̌̐̍̚͜͠͠S̴̡̤̠͓̞̞̼̻͍͇̞̞̦̀̿̆̍̎̈́̋̈̉̍̍͂̉̓̀̒͠ͅͅͅ ̶̧̡͔͕̘̟̦̯̟͙̠̘͔̤̥̆̓̉̒̃̽̓͒͜I̵͎̲͚̋̈̋̌̀̂ͅF̷̧̨͎̲̦̙̼̱͓͔̻̲̹͎̀̊̓͊̏́̈́̀͒͆͐̕͜͜͠ ̵̧͖̙͓͖͔̖̠̮͇͊̆̒́̌̎̏̓̑̒̋́͜Y̵̢͉̙͕͙̰̻̳̲̫͙̗̩͉̔͛͂̇̓̐̅̎̅̀͊́̄̇̚͝Ơ̵̡̼̬̗̫̣͙̞̗̘̅̐̾͒̋̌͛́̉̕͝ͅͅÚ̶̻͇̝͉ͅ ̵̼̝̙̬̻͎̄̊̈́͒̕͘͝ͅT̸̫̲͖̦̞͉͈̗̤͕̜̣͓͐̈́̑͛̐̔́̓̒̂̂́̈́͘͝͝R̵̦̭̪͉̣͈͍̪̝̗͇̦͐̔̊ͅY̶̧̛̞͙̻͎͈͎̻̥̬̪̺͓͉͙͖̅͑̽̐̐̉̄͗̓̋̀͘̚̚͠ ̶̡̢̛̥̜̺͔̤̯̼͔̞͈̒͛̈̾͆͋̽̑̇H̵̨͙̟̹̤̜̻͙̿́̂̚E̴̡͈͍͕̰͍̬̭̲̰͉͓̗͈̯̽̾͛̔͌͌̀̇̃͒̚͘̚͝ ̶̡̡̡̬̫̺͓̌̓͊̌̀̉͆̈́̈́̃̚̚͝Ḑ̵̨͕͇̪̠̪͎̠͈͎̯̞̃̇̽̄̐̋̈́̓̈́͗̏̌̌́́̈ͅͅI̸̛̳̦̠̘͕̬̰̦̤͇̘͛̀̏̎͌͊̈̅̆̊̐̽̑͘̚͘ͅE̶̢̨͙̭̥̯̹͙̣̞͓͓͈̣͓̯̤͂̆̽̓̑͋́̈́͂̾̐͘͝͠S̵̙̣̟̒̿͂̓̉̕̕ ̷̢̛̭̩͎̖̼̰̬̲̗͈̍̌͋̋̂́̇̏̑̽̊͆͜͝͝I̶̡̨̺̻͍̠̦̜̪̦̟͍̗̖̝̘̒͐̓͗̔̿̓͐̊̃͋͝͠͝F̷̤̼̫̮̪͒͗̓̎̉̽͂̓͋͂̕̚ ̷̢̙͎̼̻͎͔͙̓̑̉̈́̑́̐͂̆͂̑̑̅̄͝͝͝Ÿ̸̢̡̢̛̗̫̻̣̱̻̦̳̠̮̰̗́͌́̈̇̇̅̑̾̈́͋̒̒ͅỢ̶̪̂̑͌̒͐͋Ù̷̢̨̬̦̜̩͖̇͆́͐̒̂͑̚͘ͅ ̴̡͉̳̳͙̘̙̲̩̠̮͍̆́T̶̢̼͓̜̦̥͌͌̐̌̓̿̀̔̇̏͂̑̕͝ͅR̵̯̅̈́̇͊͘Y̶̨͚̘̤̯͓͎̰͙̬̓͋̌̋͘͝ͅ ̸̣͕̯̬͎͉̎̾̎̓̏͌̚͝H̵͇̣̼̘̖̭͐̇̎̀̈́̇́́̽́̋̕͘̕ͅȨ̸͈̪̺̪̺͚̹̐̔́̌̏̄͂̂̀̋͒̾̓̀̕̚ͅ ̸̡͕̦̖̦͚̤̦̗͉͙̟͉̖͇̙̾ͅD̵̢̢̨̨̡̤͔͉̫̞͙͉̰̜͕͋͜I̶̡̡̺̯͉͙̳̣͔̖̦̮̔̾̄͛̊͜E̷̫̰̫͕̣̭̭̥̺͈͐͆̓̇̐̋̂͒S̷̛͆̓͂̂̓̈͆͊̆́̆̎̃̇̿̀ͅ ̴̧̧̙̯͓͐Ì̵̜̮̟̝̞͉̯̓͐͗͆F̵̡̛̯̻̲̘̟̱͉̦̟̅͑̾̊̌̑͊ͅ ̴̛̛͈̜̄͐̈́̑Y̵̘̞̯̪̻̬̖̳̗̜̜̼͕͗Ó̵̝̋̿̽̎͌̏͒̏̂̈́́͊͌͘͝U̷̘̼̿͌̄̔͒̿̇͌̎͛ ̸̺̞̟̾̈́̇̈́̅T̶̯͕͇͙͈̞̣̼͉̮̔̽͒͘͜R̶̡̨͔̦̦̗͕͛̆̑̾͑̎̑͛̄̅̔́̔̿͑̾Y̷̧͓̗͚̍̀̈́̀̂̋̍̄̈́̏̐̅͘͜͝͝ͅH̷̭͎͚͇̻̹̤̘̯̪̞̭̘͙͚̋̌̍͝E̵̛̹͓̺̺̤̩̱̤̯̘̞̜̫͊̿̓̐̐͊͋͒͠͝ ̶̦̤̤̀̀̓͆̎͘̚͘͝D̸͔͉̳̙̯̜̣̣̳̳̯̖̀̀̉͐̓͂̒̔̊̔̎̃̉͛͂̅͘Ȉ̶̧̩̹̬̱̥͇͈̯̦̞̚Ë̸̱̩̻͔̹̫͉̦̖̙́̑͐͛͘S̶̠̤͈͈̮̣͓̱̮̜̘̦̘͓͍̈́̀̈́̏͑͜ ̶̨̢̟͙̼͖̬̫̦̆̔͒̀̿̃͌̈́̊̎͑͑̐̿̀̚͘Ị̷̧̟͖̮̦̟̱̟̮̪̳̀̐̉̊̽̉̈́̏F̵̧̛͇͓̣̲̙̳͚͍͉̞͖͖̽́͒̎̆̎̐̾̑́͘̚͜ͅ ̸̡̲̟̫̍Y̵̬̘̞̪̮̬͕̽̓̈̄̅͊́̓̈̂́͘̚Ơ̸̜̩̹̭͙͍͖̘̠͉̬̈̎̿̇́̀͝U̵͉͚͓̯͊͂̈́̒̈́̃͊͌͐̋̂͠͠ ̴͍͍̑̌̇T̵̛̼̭̝̘̘̎̎̑̂͛͗̊̉̈͊̍͘̚͝R̴̘̿̀͆͊̇̋̑͆͘͝Y̶̟̪͉̟̜͓͈͍̍̑ͅ ̴̧͕̘͈̗͎̣͖̦̝͉͗̌͂́̅̅̃͒͘H̶̨̛̻̫̿͋̏́̑̒È̶̡̧̗̣͓͚̫̙͙̲̙̜̖͖̻ ̷͕̃̈͑̇̍̆͂̓̈́̐̚͝͝D̵̥̰́̈̉̀́̇̀͛͘͘I̸͉̎͌̉͛͒̈́̿́͐̑́̾̈̚Ȩ̵̢̱̱̝̪̘͕̥̯͙̲͚̟͍̈́́̎͂͒͛̓̌̐̍̚͜͠͠S̴̡̤̠͓̞̞̼̻͍͇̞̞̦̀̿̆̍̎̈́̋̈̉̍̍͂̉̓̀̒͠ͅͅͅ ̶̧̡͔͕̘̟̦̯̟͙̠̘͔̤̥̆̓̉̒̃̽̓͒͜I̵͎̲͚̋̈̋̌̀̂ͅF̷̧̨͎̲̦̙̼̱͓͔̻̲̹͎̀̊̓͊̏́̈́̀͒͆͐̕͜͜͠ ̵̧͖̙͓͖͔̖̠̮͇͊̆̒́̌̎̏̓̑̒̋́͜Y̵̢͉̙͕͙̰̻̳̲̫͙̗̩͉̔͛͂̇̓̐̅̎̅̀͊́̄̇̚͝Ơ̵̡̼̬̗̫̣͙̞̗̘̅̐̾͒̋̌͛́̉̕͝ͅͅÚ̶̻͇̝͉ͅ ̵̼̝̙̬̻͎̄̊̈́͒̕͘͝ͅT̸̫̲͖̦̞͉͈̗̤͕̜̣͓͐̈́̑͛̐̔́̓̒̂̂́̈́͘͝͝R̵̦̭̪͉̣͈͍̪̝̗͇̦͐̔̊ͅY̶̧̛̞͙̻͎͈͎̻̥̬̪̺͓͉͙͖̅͑̽̐̐̉̄͗̓̋̀͘̚̚͠ ̶̡̢̛̥̜̺͔̤̯̼͔̞͈̒͛̈̾͆͋̽̑̇H̵̨͙̟̹̤̜̻͙̿́̂̚E̴̡͈͍͕̰͍̬̭̲̰͉͓̗͈̯̽̾͛̔͌͌̀̇̃͒̚͘̚͝ ̶̡̡̡̬̫̺͓̌̓͊̌̀̉͆̈́̈́̃̚̚͝Ḑ̵̨͕͇̪̠̪͎̠͈͎̯̞̃̇̽̄̐̋̈́̓̈́͗̏̌̌́́̈ͅͅI̸̛̳̦̠̘͕̬̰̦̤͇̘͛̀̏̎͌͊̈̅̆̊̐̽̑͘̚͘ͅE̶̢̨͙̭̥̯̹͙̣̞͓͓͈̣͓̯̤͂̆̽̓̑͋́̈́͂̾̐͘͝͠S̵̙̣̟̒̿͂̓̉̕̕ ̷̢̛̭̩͎̖̼̰̬̲̗͈̍̌͋̋̂́̇̏̑̽̊͆͜͝͝I̶̡̨̺̻͍̠̦̜̪̦̟͍̗̖̝̘̒͐̓͗̔̿̓͐̊̃͋͝͠͝F̷̤̼̫̮̪͒͗̓̎̉̽͂̓͋͂̕̚ ̷̢̙͎̼̻͎͔͙̓̑̉̈́̑́̐͂̆͂̑̑̅̄͝͝͝Ÿ̸̢̡̢̛̗̫̻̣̱̻̦̳̠̮̰̗́͌́̈̇̇̅̑̾̈́͋̒̒ͅỢ̶̪̂̑͌̒͐͋Ù̷̢̨̬̦̜̩͖̇͆́͐̒̂͑̚͘ͅ ̴̡͉̳̳͙̘̙̲̩̠̮͍̆́T̶̢̼͓̜̦̥͌͌̐̌̓̿̀̔̇̏͂̑̕͝ͅR̵̯̅̈́̇͊͘Y̶̨͚̘̤̯͓͎̰͙̬̓͋̌̋͘͝ͅ ̸̣͕̯̬͎͉̎̾̎̓̏͌̚͝H̵͇̣̼̘̖̭͐̇̎̀̈́̇́́̽́̋̕͘̕ͅȨ̸͈̪̺̪̺͚̹̐̔́̌̏̄͂̂̀̋͒̾̓̀̕̚ͅ ̸̡͕̦̖̦͚̤̦̗͉͙̟͉̖͇̙̾ͅD̵̢̢̨̨̡̤͔͉̫̞͙͉̰̜͕͋͜I̶̡̡̺̯͉͙̳̣͔̖̦̮̔̾̄͛̊͜E̷̫̰̫͕̣̭̭̥̺͈͐͆̓̇̐̋̂͒S̷̛͆̓͂̂̓̈͆͊̆́̆̎̃̇̿̀ͅ ̴̧̧̙̯͓͐Ì̵̜̮̟̝̞͉̯̓͐͗͆F̵̡̛̯̻̲̘̟̱͉̦̟̅͑̾̊̌̑͊ͅ ̴̛̛͈̜̄͐̈́̑Y̵̘̞̯̪̻̬̖̳̗̜̜̼͕͗Ó̵̝̋̿̽̎͌̏͒̏̂̈́́͊͌͘͝U̷̘̼̿͌̄̔͒̿̇͌̎͛ ̸̺̞̟̾̈́̇̈́̅T̶̯͕͇͙͈̞̣̼͉̮̔̽͒͘͜R̶̡̨͔̦̦̗͕͛̆̑̾͑̎̑͛̄̅̔́̔̿͑̾Y̷̧͓̗͚̍̀̈́̀̂̋̍̄̈́̏̐̅͘͜͝͝ͅH̷̭͎͚͇̻̹̤̘̯̪̞̭̘͙͚̋̌̍͝E̵̛̹͓̺̺̤̩̱̤̯̘̞̜̫͊̿̓̐̐͊͋͒͠͝ ̶̦̤̤̀̀̓͆̎͘̚͘͝D̸͔͉̳̙̯̜̣̣̳̳̯̖̀̀̉͐̓͂̒̔̊̔̎̃̉͛͂̅͘Ȉ̶̧̩̹̬̱̥͇͈̯̦̞̚Ë̸̱̩̻͔̹̫͉̦̖̙́̑͐͛͘S̶̠̤͈͈̮̣͓̱̮̜̘̦̘͓͍̈́̀̈́̏͑͜ ̶̨̢̟͙̼͖̬̫̦̆̔͒̀̿̃͌̈́̊̎͑͑̐̿̀̚͘Ị̷̧̟͖̮̦̟̱̟̮̪̳̀̐̉̊̽̉̈́̏F̵̧̛͇͓̣̲̙̳͚͍͉̞͖͖̽́͒̎̆̎̐̾̑́͘̚͜ͅ ̸̡̲̟̫̍Y̵̬̘̞̪̮̬͕̽̓̈̄̅͊́̓̈̂́͘̚Ơ̸̜̩̹̭͙͍͖̘̠͉̬̈̎̿̇́̀͝U̵͉͚͓̯͊͂̈́̒̈́̃͊͌͐̋̂͠͠ ̴͍͍̑̌̇T̵̛̼̭̝̘̘̎̎̑̂͛͗̊̉̈͊̍͘̚͝R̴̘̿̀͆͊̇̋̑͆͘͝Y̶̟̪͉̟̜͓͈͍̍̑ͅ ̴̧͕̘͈̗͎̣͖̦̝͉͗̌͂́̅̅̃͒͘H̶̨̛̻̫̿͋̏́̑̒È̶̡̧̗̣͓͚̫̙͙̲̙̜̖͖̻ ̷͕̃̈͑̇̍̆͂̓̈́̐̚͝͝D̵̥̰́̈̉̀́̇̀͛͘͘I̸͉̎͌̉͛͒̈́̿́͐̑́̾̈̚Ȩ̵̢̱̱̝̪̘͕̥̯͙̲͚̟͍̈́́̎͂͒͛̓̌̐̍̚͜͠͠S̴̡̤̠͓̞̞̼̻͍͇̞̞̦̀̿̆̍̎̈́̋̈̉̍̍͂̉̓̀̒͠ͅͅͅ ̶̧̡͔͕̘̟̦̯̟͙̠̘͔̤̥̆̓̉̒̃̽̓͒͜I̵͎̲͚̋̈̋̌̀̂ͅF̷̧̨͎̲̦̙̼̱͓͔̻̲̹͎̀̊̓͊̏́̈́̀͒͆͐̕͜͜͠ ̵̧͖̙͓͖͔̖̠̮͇͊̆̒́̌̎̏̓̑̒̋́͜Y̵̢͉̙͕͙̰̻̳̲̫͙̗̩͉̔͛͂̇̓̐̅̎̅̀͊́̄̇̚͝Ơ̵̡̼̬̗̫̣͙̞̗̘̅̐̾͒̋̌͛́̉̕͝ͅͅÚ̶̻͇̝͉ͅ ̵̼̝̙̬̻͎̄̊̈́͒̕͘͝ͅT̸̫̲͖̦̞͉͈̗̤͕̜̣͓͐̈́̑͛̐̔́̓̒̂̂́̈́͘͝͝R̵̦̭̪͉̣͈͍̪̝̗͇̦͐̔̊ͅY̶̧̛̞͙̻͎͈͎̻̥̬̪̺͓͉͙͖̅͑̽̐̐̉̄͗̓̋̀͘̚̚͠ ̶̡̢̛̥̜̺͔̤̯̼͔̞͈̒͛̈̾͆͋̽̑̇H̵̨͙̟̹̤̜̻͙̿́̂̚E̴̡͈͍͕̰͍̬̭̲̰͉͓̗͈̯̽̾͛̔͌͌̀̇̃͒̚͘̚͝ ̶̡̡̡̬̫̺͓̌̓͊̌̀̉͆̈́̈́̃̚̚͝Ḑ̵̨͕͇̪̠̪͎̠͈͎̯̞̃̇̽̄̐̋̈́̓̈́͗̏̌̌́́̈ͅͅI̸̛̳̦̠̘͕̬̰̦̤͇̘͛̀̏̎͌͊̈̅̆̊̐̽̑͘̚͘ͅE̶̢̨͙̭̥̯̹͙̣̞͓͓͈̣͓̯̤͂̆̽̓̑͋́̈́͂̾̐͘͝͠S̵̙̣̟̒̿͂̓̉̕̕ ̷̢̛̭̩͎̖̼̰̬̲̗͈̍̌͋̋̂́̇̏̑̽̊͆͜͝͝I̶̡̨̺̻͍̠̦̜̪̦̟͍̗̖̝̘̒͐̓͗̔̿̓͐̊̃͋͝͠͝F̷̤̼̫̮̪͒͗̓̎̉̽͂̓͋͂̕̚ ̷̢̙͎̼̻͎͔͙̓̑̉̈́̑́̐͂̆͂̑̑̅̄͝͝͝Ÿ̸̢̡̢̛̗̫̻̣̱̻̦̳̠̮̰̗́͌́̈̇̇̅̑̾̈́͋̒̒ͅỢ̶̪̂̑͌̒͐͋Ù̷̢̨̬̦̜̩͖̇͆́͐̒̂͑̚͘ͅ ̴̡͉̳̳͙̘̙̲̩̠̮͍̆́T̶̢̼͓̜̦̥͌͌̐̌̓̿̀̔̇̏͂̑̕͝ͅR̵̯̅̈́̇͊͘Y̶̨͚̘̤̯͓͎̰͙̬̓͋̌̋͘͝ͅ ̸̣͕̯̬͎͉̎̾̎̓̏͌̚͝H̵͇̣̼̘̖̭͐̇̎̀̈́̇́́̽́̋̕͘̕ͅȨ̸͈̪̺̪̺͚̹̐̔́̌̏̄͂̂̀̋͒̾̓̀̕̚ͅ ̸̡͕̦̖̦͚̤̦̗͉͙̟͉̖͇̙̾ͅD̵̢̢̨̨̡̤͔͉̫̞͙͉̰̜͕͋͜I̶̡̡̺̯͉͙̳̣͔̖̦̮̔̾̄͛̊͜E̷̫̰̫͕̣̭̭̥̺͈͐͆̓̇̐̋̂͒S̷̛͆̓͂̂̓̈͆͊̆́̆̎̃̇̿̀ͅ ̴̧̧̙̯͓͐Ì̵̜̮̟̝̞͉̯̓͐͗͆F̵̡̛̯̻̲̘̟̱͉̦̟̅͑̾̊̌̑͊ͅ ̴̛̛͈̜̄͐̈́̑Y̵̘̞̯̪̻̬̖̳̗̜̜̼͕͗Ó̵̝̋̿̽̎͌̏͒̏̂̈́́͊͌͘͝U̷̘̼̿͌̄̔͒̿̇͌̎͛ ̸̺̞̟̾̈́̇̈́̅T̶̯͕͇͙͈̞̣̼͉̮̔̽͒͘͜R̶̡̨͔̦̦̗͕͛̆̑̾͑̎̑͛̄̅̔́̔̿͑̾Y̷̧͓̗͚̍̀̈́̀̂̋̍̄̈́̏̐̅͘͜͝͝ͅH̷̭͎͚͇̻̹̤̘̯̪̞̭̘͙͚̋̌̍͝E̵̛̹͓̺̺̤̩̱̤̯̘̞̜̫͊̿̓̐̐͊͋͒͠͝ ̶̦̤̤̀̀̓͆̎͘̚͘͝D̸͔͉̳̙̯̜̣̣̳̳̯̖̀̀̉͐̓͂̒̔̊̔̎̃̉͛͂̅͘Ȉ̶̧̩̹̬̱̥͇͈̯̦̞̚Ë̸̱̩̻͔̹̫͉̦̖̙́̑͐͛͘S̶̠̤͈͈̮̣͓̱̮̜̘̦̘͓͍̈́̀̈́̏͑͜ ̶̨̢̟͙̼͖̬̫̦̆̔͒̀̿̃͌̈́̊̎͑͑̐̿̀̚͘Ị̷̧̟͖̮̦̟̱̟̮̪̳̀̐̉̊̽̉̈́̏F̵̧̛͇͓̣̲̙̳͚͍͉̞͖͖̽́͒̎̆̎̐̾̑́͘̚͜ͅ ̸̡̲̟̫̍Y̵̬̘̞̪̮̬͕̽̓̈̄̅͊́̓̈̂́͘̚Ơ̸̜̩̹̭͙͍͖̘̠͉̬̈̎̿̇́̀͝U̵͉͚͓̯͊͂̈́̒̈́̃͊͌͐̋̂͠͠ ̴͍͍̑̌̇T̵̛̼̭̝̘̘̎̎̑̂͛͗̊̉̈͊̍͘̚͝R̴̘̿̀͆͊̇̋̑͆͘͝Y̶̟̪͉̟̜͓͈͍̍̑ͅ ̴̧͕̘͈̗͎̣͖̦̝͉͗̌͂́̅̅̃͒͘H̶̨̛̻̫̿͋̏́̑̒È̶̡̧̗̣͓͚̫̙͙̲̙̜̖͖̻ ̷͕̃̈͑̇̍̆͂̓̈́̐̚͝͝D̵̥̰́̈̉̀́̇̀͛͘͘I̸͉̎͌̉͛͒̈́̿́͐̑́̾̈̚Ȩ̵̢̱̱̝̪̘͕̥̯͙̲͚̟͍̈́́̎͂͒͛̓̌̐̍̚͜͠͠S̴̡̤̠͓̞̞̼̻͍͇̞̞̦̀̿̆̍̎̈́̋̈̉̍̍͂̉̓̀̒͠ͅͅͅ ̶̧̡͔͕̘̟̦̯̟͙̠̘͔̤̥̆̓̉̒̃̽̓͒͜I̵͎̲͚̋̈̋̌̀̂ͅF̷̧̨͎̲̦̙̼̱͓͔̻̲̹͎̀̊̓͊̏́̈́̀͒͆͐̕͜͜͠ ̵̧͖̙͓͖͔̖̠̮͇͊̆̒́̌̎̏̓̑̒̋́͜Y̵̢͉̙͕͙̰̻̳̲̫͙̗̩͉̔͛͂̇̓̐̅̎̅̀͊́̄̇̚͝Ơ̵̡̼̬̗̫̣͙̞̗̘̅̐̾͒̋̌͛́̉̕͝ͅͅÚ̶̻͇̝͉ͅ ̵̼̝̙̬̻͎̄̊̈́͒̕͘͝ͅT̸̫̲͖̦̞͉͈̗̤͕̜̣͓͐̈́̑͛̐̔́̓̒̂̂́̈́͘͝͝R̵̦̭̪͉̣͈͍̪̝̗͇̦͐̔̊ͅY̶̧̛̞͙̻͎͈͎̻̥̬̪̺͓͉͙͖̅͑̽̐̐̉̄͗̓̋̀͘̚̚͠ ̶̡̢̛̥̜̺͔̤̯̼͔̞͈̒͛̈̾͆͋̽̑̇H̵̨͙̟̹̤̜̻͙̿́̂̚E̴̡͈͍͕̰͍̬̭̲̰͉͓̗͈̯̽̾͛̔͌͌̀̇̃͒̚͘̚͝ ̶̡̡̡̬̫̺͓̌̓͊̌̀̉͆̈́̈́̃̚̚͝Ḑ̵̨͕͇̪̠̪͎̠͈͎̯̞̃̇̽̄̐̋̈́̓̈́͗̏̌̌́́̈ͅͅI̸̛̳̦̠̘͕̬̰̦̤͇̘͛̀̏̎͌͊̈̅̆̊̐̽̑͘̚͘ͅE̶̢̨͙̭̥̯̹͙̣̞͓͓͈̣͓̯̤͂̆̽̓̑͋́̈́͂̾̐͘͝͠S̵̙̣̟̒̿͂̓̉̕̕ ̷̢̛̭̩͎̖̼̰̬̲̗͈̍̌͋̋̂́̇̏̑̽̊͆͜͝͝I̶̡̨̺̻͍̠̦̜̪̦̟͍̗̖̝̘̒͐̓͗̔̿̓͐̊̃͋͝͠͝F̷̤̼̫̮̪͒͗̓̎̉̽͂̓͋͂̕̚ ̷̢̙͎̼̻͎͔͙̓̑̉̈́̑́̐͂̆͂̑̑̅̄͝͝͝Ÿ̸̢̡̢̛̗̫̻̣̱̻̦̳̠̮̰̗́͌́̈̇̇̅̑̾̈́͋̒̒ͅỢ̶̪̂̑͌̒͐͋Ù̷̢̨̬̦̜̩͖̇͆́͐̒̂͑̚͘ͅ ̴̡͉̳̳͙̘̙̲̩̠̮͍̆́T̶̢̼͓̜̦̥͌͌̐̌̓̿̀̔̇̏͂̑̕͝ͅR̵̯̅̈́̇͊͘Y̶̨͚̘̤̯͓͎̰͙̬̓͋̌̋͘͝ͅ ̸̣͕̯̬͎͉̎̾̎̓̏͌̚͝H̵͇̣̼̘̖̭͐̇̎̀̈́̇́́̽́̋̕͘̕ͅȨ̸͈̪̺̪̺͚̹̐̔́̌̏̄͂̂̀̋͒̾̓̀̕̚ͅ ̸̡͕̦̖̦͚̤̦̗͉͙̟͉̖͇̙̾ͅD̵̢̢̨̨̡̤͔͉̫̞͙͉̰̜͕͋͜I̶̡̡̺̯͉͙̳̣͔̖̦̮̔̾̄͛̊͜E̷̫̰̫͕̣̭̭̥̺͈͐͆̓̇̐̋̂͒S̷̛͆̓͂̂̓̈͆͊̆́̆̎̃̇̿̀ͅ ̴̧̧̙̯͓͐Ì̵̜̮̟̝̞͉̯̓͐͗͆F̵̡̛̯̻̲̘̟̱͉̦̟̅͑̾̊̌̑͊ͅ ̴̛̛͈̜̄͐̈́̑Y̵̘̞̯̪̻̬̖̳̗̜̜̼͕͗Ó̵̝̋̿̽̎͌̏͒̏̂̈́́͊͌͘͝U̷̘̼̿͌̄̔͒̿̇͌̎͛ ̸̺̞̟̾̈́̇̈́̅T̶̯͕͇͙͈̞̣̼͉̮̔̽͒͘͜R̶̡̨͔̦̦̗͕͛̆̑̾͑̎̑͛̄̅̔́̔̿͑̾Y̷̧͓̗͚̍̀̈́̀̂̋̍̄̈́̏̐̅͘͜͝͝ͅ**

**HE DIES IF YOU TRY HE DIES IF YOU TRYH̶͖̲̏̆Ë̴̹́̑ ̸̡͘͜D̶̝̞̈́̀I̸̯̎̇Ę̵̬̓S̸͕̙͒ ̷̛̼̒ͅÍ̵͎̫̀F̶͎̆̀ ̶͈́Y̷̖̓Ó̶̧̀Ư̵̧̪̋ ̸͇̲̈́͠T̸̻͊͑R̴̡̩̐̚Y̴̯̒ ̶̲̂Ḥ̴̈́͐Ȅ̵̹ ̵͕͗D̴̗͌Ḯ̶͔͈E̵̹̅͘S̵̛̭͋ ̴͓͉̈́̕I̸̞͌F̸̙̈́ ̸̜̩̎Y̷͕̔Ȏ̸͚U̵͚̍͝ ̵͙͒T̶̤̈́͝R̸̩͆Y̸̺̳̓ ̶͓̊Ḧ̶̫̻́͝E̶̲̲̽͘ ̷̼̒͋D̵̟̔͐Ĩ̸̬̏E̶̺͙͛͝S̸͇̚ ̷̲̱̎̈Ì̴͇F̸͇̏̈́ ̸̻̂Y̴̖̻̿Ȍ̷̧Ù̸̝̌ ̷͉̬͝T̸̡̄Ŕ̵̤̝̕Ÿ̵̹́̚ ̵̫̕͝H̴̞̣͊̎E̴̡̨͠ ̸̲̓D̶̡̈́Ḯ̶̥̲Ḛ̷̀S̸͇͐̓ ̵̗͂̕I̵̤͂̿F̸̱̮̾͒ ̴͙͆Y̷̫͓̋̅O̸̟̐̎ͅU̶͕̍̾H̷̨̛̟̲͕̾͋̍̍̀̆͒̈͜Ë̷̢̨͖̬̟̦̲̗̹̖͚͔͍͇̰̩́̓͛̌̀̀̌̿̋̕̚ͅ ̵̗̦͖̗͇̰̯͕̜̮̩̩̈͒͊͊͛̿̉̌̇̚͝ͅD̷͖̦͍̦͑͂͒ͅȊ̵̛̝̣̯͓͙̗͓̰̀͊̀̾̋͒̒̒̅̇͑́̕͘Ė̶̢̛̛̊́̔̄̈̋̆̓̅̌̑ͅŚ̶̡̨̛̠͎̯̮̱͉̠͎̳͇̽̏̓̈́̃̉͛̀͗̾̉̾̆̐̓̀͌͜ ̴̢̢̙̱̦̗̣̠͙̼̩̩͔̯̮͍̺͔̗̂̊̄̕I̸̡̝̳̲͍̳̦͓͕̙͚̯͙̥͖̘͈̤͚̝͒̐̓͌͋̆̐͒͋̊̑̀̈̓̓̈́͘F̸̧̧̨̮̫͉̭̯̺̫͖͍̻̺̩͒̈́̆͋̓̑̈́͛͌̔̀̌͘̚ͅ ̸̢̛̲̿̀̓̀́͂͆́͒͜Ỹ̷̡̨̩̜̟͙̭̞̯͔̭̭̫͕̙̥̗ͅO̴̢̨̧̫̖͓̹̪̪̗̬̊͑̾̑͒͜ͅŲ̶̤̬̰̥̦̟̘͍̱̰̼͕̹̱̮̮̺͈̖͉̯̃̓̌͝ ̵̧̡͇̞̗͙͇̮̖̥̞̹̭̿͛͗̏̀̑̎́̍͗̀̕͝T̶̡̢̯̳̩̖̯͇̭͕̫̬̭̲͕͓̣͚̹̞͎͊͆̈́͆̓̇̔̿̀͐̎̄͗͊̋͊̾͂͘̕͜͠R̵̡̖͕͚͔̝͙̣̯̖̣̊ͅÝ̸̨̨̝͎̦̖̖̞̞̞͇͍͜ͅ ̵͈̮̬̞̼͙̈́̓͜H̵̨̼͎̜͖̦̤͚̮͎͔̱͎̤́̿̐̓̑͊̑̐Ȩ̶̧̨̢̣̩̺͇͔̺̗͓̹̳̥͉̳̘̈́̀̅͆̓͐̉͒̿̌̽̄͘͜ͅ ̴̡̨̢̛̞͚͔͍̗̱̠̖͖̖͕͇̠̥̳̉́͊́̆͗͛͑ͅD̷̛͎͖̠̘̟̭̼̟̰͖̯̱̩͉̤̲̘̻͇͖̹̊̿͐̆̅̿̃̈́͋̌̈́̎̈̊́̆͘̚I̸̡̢̡̯͖̦̳̰̩̱͉̤̤̟̼͍͔͒͜͝Ę̷͇͎̮͕̬̯͈͇̰̘̱͈̖͕͉̟̦͉̥̩̈͋̇̓̀͜S̸̗̳͔͈̘̾̅͌ ̴͈̤̮̘̞̱͔̳͔̬͓͌̇̌̈̈́̕͠Í̸̧̲̜̮͎̗̯͇͈͔̟̲̮͔͈̟͕̬̈́̉̈̒̌̆̀͛̀͒͐͜͜F̴̧̧̬̞̭̩͚̗̻̞̭͎͉̟̭̱̖̪̌̀̍̃̾̊̀̾̔̈̈́̀̚͜͜͠͝͠͝͝ͅͅ ̶̢̨̧̥̞̦̦̱̝̙̖͔̜̲͓̞͍̀̎̿͑̿̄̀̑͠ͅͅͅY̶̳̜̫̙͖͔͍̓̐͐̓̀̇̽͛̓̈̕͜͝͠O̷̢̙̲̠̟̮̦͖͇͚̹̰̻̫̪͇͋̈́̇̈́̌͆̾͌̌̀̊̿̾̀̒̔̄̀̕ͅÚ̴̧̨͍̼̫̥̙̝͓̪̪͗̔̓̎̆̃̅͛͛͝ ̴̧̨̨̛̛̹͖̖̦̦͉͚̘͖̞̖̼̖̺̘͇̌͋̔̆̀͘͜͝ͅͅT̷̢͕̼̫̻͔͖̗͉̪̝̜̟̲̋ͅR̴̪͕̐̃Y̶͕͇͍̹̥̠̘̬̗͙͍̟̐͗̒͊̆̚ ̷̟͇͙̳̬̝̦͚̫̪͖̼̼͎͈̹̗̺͙̺̘̃̔̊̀͛̎͗̍̈͒̌̉̉͒̓̋̚H̷̡̢͔͍̥̮͚̬̟͆̿̆̔͛̾͋̊̃͆̐̈͐̀̓̎̚͝͝͠͝E̷̢̡̬̘͉̭͎̝͉̼͉̩̮͇̪͖͉̻̬̻̿̎ͅ ̸̙͓̤͕͇͖͎̦̻̲̝̗̗̰̤̾͂̾̾̿̎̓͆͜͝D̸̜͙̪̫͎̣̼̬͇̺̝̠̀̌͊̆̓́̃̿͂̊͐̋̅̓̓̀̍̿͒̂͑̕Ḯ̸̻͎̙̩̘̳̟͔͓͔͚̥͉̗̩͎̗̙͙͇͍̰̉͌̌́͒̈́̉͋̒̑̍̆̐͊̔̑͛̋̕̚É̴̢̳̘̱͎̫̲̬͇̖̖̥̜̤̭̞͚͎̬̠̉͗̓̎̂̄̓͐͑̎͂̈̆̿͋̏͘͜͝͝S̵̞̏͌̽͆̿̏͘̕ ̴̧̛̛̺̗̱̠̦̳̠͙̩͉̦̞̳̈́̇̔́̊̀͒̉̌͋̃̄̇́́̃Į̷̙̻͇͈͈͙͙̪͔͆̽̈̿̆̍F̸̛̲͔͍̯͖̪͈͔̱̤͖̞̠̫̓ ̴̖̣̮̣͔̻͚͖͙͗̏̃̀̽̇̕̚Y̴̡̢̪̙̬̮͍͍̜͉̻̠͎͔͖̪͍͋̑̃̅͗͊̓̇͐̎̒͛̍͗̈́̄̇̿͋͗͜͝͠ͅƠ̶̡̜̯̫͓͙̦͉̏̓Ṵ̷̢̨̮̗͕̠̬͗ͅ ̸̗̓̓̑́̈́̂̆̈́̇̓̿͋͝T̴͙̯̩͇͙̰̥̦̟̫̱̬̲͈̥͓̱̲͕́̊̆̇͝͝ͅR̷̨̧̢͓̳̖̮͙̻̞̱̄͂͆̒̇̇͂͂̀͊͗̓̓̃̇͘̕͠͝͝ͅŶ̴̢̧̥̘̱͈͚̣̘͔͚͙̈́͌̈́̐̀̄͐̌͆͘ͅ ̵̟̼̜͖̘̏̃̈́͋͒͝͠H̵̡̬̬̙̋̌̎̽́͊̓͛̊͊͆́̌̀͝͝E̸̡̨̙̮̻̝̫̍͂̐̈́̄̃̅͂̿̚ͅͅ ̴̨̢̼͍̺̝̝̱̲̲͔͕͍̝̞͓̆̉͐̃͋̋̈́͗̾͝Ḑ̶̧̢̛̯̳͔͙͓͇̤̱͙̮̘͇̯̳͓͈̩̤̲̈́̂̔̃̀̓̇̓͂̑̄̌̿́̌͋̀́͘͝͝Ì̷̛̹͔̼͚́͑̉͂̇̔̍͗̇̿̋̈́͌̐̽͗̆͠È̵̡̺̮̦̘̗̝̫̼͍̖̜͖̘̘̻͔̬͔̜̗̊͌͋̀̈́̈́͋̉̐͜S̴̢̡͇̮̠̠̬̠̬͙͕̤̤̤͚͕̻̯̞͕̒̄̀͒̎̾̂̉͝ͅ ̷̧̧̠̤̥̥̬͖͈̠̟͙̫̦̘̬̺͎͎̌̀͗̉̈́̽̋̚͝Í̴̯̝͖̙͈̙̟̭̞͉̜̬̳̂F̴̫͔͖̼̞͕̭̺̰̟͂̈́̕͜ͅ ̸̗̪͍̩͙̯̞̬̞͙͎̲̲̱̓͛̌̾̑͋Y̵̧̛̛̲̜̲̝̣̝͕͕͗̈́̍̇̌̊̈́̄̆O̵̰̟̘̦͖̤͉̻͓͇̭̜̭͙̙͓̿͒͐͗͗̉̀͊̾̅̕͘͠͠Ų̸̩̞̫͈̦͈̺̭̀̌͋͑͘̕͝͝͝ ̸̡͔̘̥͖̖͎̥͙̬̖͉̰̰͛̂̒̓̏̃̉̑͌͜͜͝͝T̸̨̢̛̗̩̬̗̪͕̳̦̻̉͗̍Ṟ̵̨̢̛͖̹̰͉̰̳̞̞̯͔̙̙͒̆͛̉̽̊̐͛̋̅̿͠Y̶̧̢̡̳̜̹̹̥̠̞̪̺̣͕͎͉̮̳̳̊̀͊̄͒͗͂̉̈͌̀͗́̀̓̇̒͜ ̴̮̭̐̔T̸͎̜̆R̶̯̹͑̌Ỵ̴̬͐H̵̡̨̡̨̧̢̡̟͈̖̣̮̩̞̥̥̘͇̜̜̞͕̪̙̘̣͇̥̞͎̪̹͔̰̜̲̼̳̜̜̭̯͍̺̮̭̃͒͗̄̎̉̆͐̂̋̓͛̒̊̃̕̕͘͜͠͝͝͝Ȩ̸̡̨̨̡̢̛̛̛̲̰̜͍̝͍͓̙̭̙̱̥̜͕͈͚̣̳͖̳̤̯̲̪͚̫̇̐̂̍͌̊̓̓̀̀̌̎̇͊͆́̀̌́́̍̀̆͆̋͑̈́̈́̽͋͘̚͝͝͝͠͠ ̴̧̧̧̛̜͎̟͍̰͚̝̹̦̘͉̮̤̖̘̦͍̠͙͉̻̰̞̞̖̤͓̦̞̙͇̫͗̋̒̃̽̎̄͌̎̍͂̆̒̓̋͛̌̎̎̅̈́̀́̌͛̀̄̏̀͛̓̈́̐̓͋̃͒̐͒̏̀̿͊̋̌͛͑̿͛̕͘͘̚͝͝͝͝ͅḐ̶̢̡̢̢̡̨̨̛̛̛͎̩̼̲̰̣͖̤̣̤̭͔͕̜̦̬̠͍͇̩̖̭̹͓̻̏̉̇̿̂̒͑͆̉̋̄̆̑̒́̉̐̐̐͑̓̓̒̈́͌̈̎̈́̄̌̄̍͌̌͑̂͐͒̊́́̓̍̀̃͑̔̊͛̄̄͛̆̚͘͘͜͝͠͝͠Į̸̡̡̧̧̡̯͙̤͉̣͇͖͓̯̞̖̪̯̙̻̘̘̳͙̜͔̜͉̣̻̝̤̟̮͉̤̬̤͎͍͓͎͓̭͙̤̒̾̎̓̐̍̎͋̆̀̐̔͊̽̌͒̒̑̓͐̔̍͋͜͜͝ͅE̵͓̞̣̙̻͋͂̇̑̄̊͆̏̽͊̀S̸̢̢̪͇̹̝͍͖̗̟̬̻̳̲̫̯̮̳̞͉̬̥̬̗͚͐̐̋̅̑͋̇ ̸̡̛̜͓̣͇̗̻̖̖̙̹̹͚̣̹̾͌͂̍̕I̸̢̨̧͇̞̻̞̰̘͉̦̮͖̮̲͎͍͓̪͕̥͖̝͖̭͎͍͎̞̩̳̭̭̣̙̩͇̥͔̖̙̳͚̫̠̮̠̬͓̹̘̱̻̝̝͓͆̈́̂̇͛͊̍͆͆̄͆͊ͅͅͅͅͅF̷̧̧̳̩̼͎̦̝͉̱̖͕̫̥͇̹̙̭̺̰̮̟̠͓̮̩̙̣̖̯̬̙̗͚̥͊̐̏͛͜ ̸̡̜̖̥̦̻̼͕̜͇̳̙̰̮͕͇̍̓̀͗͌̄̏͛͐̉̔͑̋̓̀͊̈̓͘͠͝Ý̴̨̢̨̢̘̜̞̯̳͔̯͍̱̜͙̥͚͇̮̭̣͚̻̳͓̤̯̙͇̭̲̮̫̣͖͈̙͜ͅͅǪ̷̨̨̱̻̣̱͎̳̼̪̤̰̠͈̟̗̗̙̤̭̗̣͙̱̝͓͓̮̙͚̩͇͔͍̟͖̲̜͍͔̹̹̥͎͓̱͈̬̻̼͔̼̤̂́̌̄͆̿͛̈́̃̈̒̇͑̋̈́̀̂͒͛̕͜͜͜͠ͅͅỤ̸̡̨̧̘̬͉̯͓͇̪͉̖͍͎̖̗͔̜̱̲͍̻̦͔̥̺̖͚̞̺͉͚̫̩͍̘̱̗̹͙̦̼̱̜̗̯̤̠̱͇̭͚̓͆̉̋͛̅͋͌̑̎͌͗̚ͅͅ ̴̨̨̨̨̢̡̡̛͉͓̩̥͇̥̯̲̞̥̩͕̙̲̗͎̙̬̳̥͇̱̭̮̖͈̣̥̻̹̳̳͖̘̜̦̫̪̘̙̠̖̖̣̼̦̲͇̙͔͇͕̫̈́̔̈́̑́͑́̂͑̍̈́͂̐̍͗͗͌̇̅̑̉̏̓͒͆͂͆̇͋̀̊̇͛̿͌̄̌͗͌̓͒̄̂͆͑̔́̇͗͑̅̂̇̐̏̆̑͘̕̚̚͝͠͠͝T̵̡̙̜̟̗͇͍̠̙̰̠̦͎̯̫̪̗͕͆̊͌͒́͒͆͂́̈́̓ͅR̷̡̡̢̡̢̛̛̪̭̲͓͓̟͓̜̰̼̪͍̭̺̦̜̲͉̪͖͈̮̱̘̟̘̼͚̗̝̦̜͎̖͚̭̙̘̙͕̱̲̗̤̟͚͎͓͙̫̝͇̩̹͍̫̦̱͒̑͆̃́̐͆̅̀̿̄̄̑́̈̓̅̀͗̏̀͐͋͐̂̈̄̿͂̀̄̎̓͐̀͋̅̓͒̈̑͊̆͂́̄̾̑̏̂̈́̎̑̂̐̄̽̕̚͘̚̚͝͝ͅY̴̨̨̡̧̡̧̨̨̛̭̖̺̭̟̤͙͚͈̖̥͖͙̰̗̯̱̱͎͔͚̠̜̜̥͈͎̗̬͕͖̙̻͉̱̱͙̞̼͙̖̘̥̤͚͍͈̫͙̳̗̭̱̦̹͍͉͈̘͔͛̃̔͂͗́́̑̉̆̂́̍̄̒͛̀̍͆͆̾͒̌͘̚͜ ̵̡̨̛̛̛̼͍̯̜̦͙̰̣̞͉̤̘̖̙̭͔̖̞̮̫̀͗̅̌̊̍́͌̄́̄̐͗̌́͐̍́̉̑͊̉̀̆̐̽̉̆̓̈́̌̇͗̈͊̚͘͘̕̚͜͝͠͝͝H̶̡̢̧̢̛̙͎̝͉̙̻͍̲̭̯̦̰̠͎̟̫̰͖̣̖͕̬͙̠̬̝͇̰̳̬̳͔͇̭̙̪͉͚͔̰͓̩̯̱͇̠̟̘͙̲͎͔̫̬͕̦̮͈͈͎͕͍̍̿̇͊͋̄̃͐̍́͊̒̃̌̆̑̌̆̄̓͆̍̕͜͜͜͝Ȩ̷̨̛̛̯̦̖̩̜̝̯̞̳͎͔͕̯̫̗̙̝̫̗̣̪̳̼͙̩͈͕̰̤̤̠̤͍̗̤̗̥̤̣͇̩̩͎̙̅̾̓͑̅̑̈́̑̆̍̾̈́́̾͒̏͌͑́̍̄̎͌̓͗͌͆̅͌̀̈́͒̊̇͂̉͌͑͐͌̏̂͒͑͗͌͠͝ͅͅ ̸̜͒͒̌̐͑͂̉̓͊̒̾̿̑͗̎̃̀̏̊͗̋̃͛̋͊́̓͐̒̋̉̓̊̒͂̉̑́͝͝D̷̡̥̹̠̖̠̤̼͈͆͐̐̀̈͌̿̈́̑̀͒̔̉̃̈́̅̏͐̌͆͛͂̆̈̓̏̄̃̅̀̉̔̓̐́̿͘͝͝Ȉ̴̡̢̨̢̩̻͔̺̞̮͍̥̭̲̖͚͙̬͙͈̻͉͔̱̱͙͇̪͉͕̝̱͇̦̖̖̝̳̲̠̜̦͈̩̼̥̯̱̠̱̲̬̜̘̱̇̈̉̓̈́̀͂̈́̇́͜ͅȨ̶̢̨̡̡̡̛̛̣͔̤̙̘͓̙̲̯̫̮̼͇̝̻͎̣͈̣̘̱̗̣͍͕̹̗̝̤̺̥̱͖̠̳̩̗͖̖̱͛̇̾̀͒̑̆̈́͛̈̊̓̅͗̎͒̏͛̒͌̈́̾̂͑̈́̀̔͒͒͌̈́̓̊͌̄̎̌͐̑̏̊̎̈́̂̓̄̍̏́͌͒̐̚̚̕̕͝͝͝͝ͅS̷̲̯̺͈̙͈͈͕͚͙̖̜̹̭̺̹͚̳̜̥̺͎̱̘͍̪͚͍̬̫̩̬̟͍̩̥̀͋̍̐̽͐͂͊͂̓́̈́͐̔͆͂ͅ ̶̢̧̨̧̛͉̞̪̠̱̮͉͇͕͍̲͉̙̮̙͈̘̲̣͙͎̥͐̿̔̓́̓̆̃̅͗͆̀̒̈͊̔͛́̐̎̑̏̈́̿̐̓̏͌̎̽͗̉̾͘̕̕͘̕͝Ȋ̷̧̧̡̤̪͓͙̯̼̹̲̙͈̤͖͈̹̝͙̟̘̖̍́͂̀̈́͋͊͊̉͊̐̄̂̈̏̂̓͆́̆̋̽́͛̆͒͑́̕͘̕ͅF̸̧̢̡̡͖̮̻̱̤̻̲̮̯̘̯̟̙̪͓͚̩̭̖̗̹̖͉̪͓̺͖̯̣̤̗͎̝̦̝̮̦̯̪̱͈̺̺͙̗̺͗̓͛͊͆̆̏͌̆̒̈͒̑̃̄̏͘͘͜͜͝ͅ ̷̧̧̛̛͈̫͎̗̝̟͖̲̩̰̰̜͖͙̹̬̤̗͉̣͔̱̣̬̞̳̩̲̂͐̀̈́̊̎̈́͆̂͂͑͊͛̏͗̎͛́̾̆͊̄͆́̽̀̐̋͐͆̄̇̅̍̎̀̀͑̔̌̃̏̓̏̑͊́̾̌́̾̎́̽͋̊̔͌̓̅́͘̚̕̚͠͠͠ͅY̸̧̡̧̨̢̡̟̤̩̥͇̘̯͚̻͓̜̥̙̰̤͈̘̰̙̘̫̜͔̟̟̬̜̪͖͕͎̼̼̙̥̣̫̰̲̲̍́̾́̌͜͜Ǫ̸̨̢̢̡̛̛̖̖͙͍̥͎͈̙̹͔̤̩̟̳̮̫̥͚̝͎̪͓͍̱͔̥͕̘̜̱̺͚̘̤̰̥̰̭̟͕̺̤̝͎͓̰͔͙͚͓̩̭̝̤̮̞͙͇͍̹̌͂͌̎́̔͌̈́̉̈́̔̈́͑͒̓̿̀͛̓̋͊̀̽͒͂̊̾̈́͊͂̈́̾̑̇́̓̿̂͛̈́̏̂͊͑̂̂̏̊͂̋̀̚̚̕̚͝ͅŲ̷̨̢̨̛̗͉͈̠̪̮̝̬̤͚̠̲͓̭̫̦͎̳̭͔̬̮̹̻͙̜̰̪̯̼̗̹̪̳̭̭̪̙͍͖͍̲͎̼͚͕͙̼̙̲̮̖͇͇̺̦̠̺̼̾͜ ̸̧̡̨̨̧̧̢̡̭̜̫͚̲̠͓̫͈͈̞̤͙̬̖̖͉̜̲̲͓̘̩͎͔̦͎͈̣̼̼̝͚͇̱̻̣̗̥̐̿̏͐̂͒͒̇̀̃͊͒̒̊̈́̊̀̓̂͂̔̾̋̓̔̄̚̚̚͘͜͠ͅŢ̸̢̡̦̹̭̗̠̯̞̲̼̳͕̰͖̰̺͓̲͓͇̭̜̩̲̭̩̟̗͚͚͕̙̟̠̞̣́̀̂̆̆̌̆͐̾̑͂̆̒̎͘͘͜͜͠ͅͅŖ̵̢̧̧̧̢̨̲͈͖̮̙̻̭͚̻̺͎̘̠̦͖̻̼͖͉͖̫͖̭͎͈̲̠̝̝̰͇̟̠͇͙̗̥̫̣̠͓͚̘̮̭̟̠͈̜̟͎͈͓̻̯̙͒̍̂̈́͗̚͜͜͜͜ͅͅY̷̡̧̨͇͖̳̙̣̰̺̼̠̫̲̱͍͇͕̜̼͔̺̯͙͕̼̮̜̮̳͇̏̔̌͗̀̂̒̒̎̎̀̃̾̑͋͒̄̒́̃̄̐̐̆̓̀̓̐̌̿̓͂̑̽͐̆̈͗̑̍͒̊͆̂̈́̌̆̽̓͆̐͌̂̍͛̈̔͘̕͘͝͝͝͝͝ͅ ̸̡̢̧̛̛̛̥̗̗̦͕̻͚̘̲͎̣͇̼̦̙̫̱͎͍̦͈͙͚̤͕̜̳̝̹͉̘̯̪̖̠͎̰̟͖̥̟̪͔̺͎͛́̇̀̆͑̈́̈́͋͑̑͌̄̍̑̉͒̍́͋͐̒̂͂̄̆͒̋̅̈͊̇͗̈́͂͌́̇̿̀̔́͌̌͒̽̒̽̑̒̎̓̕͘͝͠͠H̸̡̧̱̝̝̦̻͉̰̺̤͆̀͛͝Ḙ̸̡̗̱̳͔̖̝̺̖̗̮̟̣̰̥̟͎̠̯͉͙͉̜̘̱̻̻̯͈͉̫̠̰̠̬̤͕̗͖̳̗͔͙̙̟̩̹̥̗͆̓̊͌̇̕͜ͅͅͅ ̵̨̡̡̡̛̖̟͚̖̼̮̲̣͎̟̫̩͙̻̖͈̻̲̰͖̗̥̘̯͖͔͉͇͔̳̞̱̪̳̺͇̣̖͕̙̉͌̾̒̊̀̌̏̌̀̓̈́́͋͑̈͌̐̽̀̊̔̋͒͘͘͘D̵̡̧̧̛̯̦͖͔̲̹͇̗̹̗̲͕̣͔̋̉̔͗̍̔̽̄̍̈́͒̓͐̔̒́̅͘̚͠͝I̶̛̛͕̻̗̯͒̽͌̓̋͆̾̆̌̔̇͛̃̃͒́̇̽̾̈́̍͗̇̊̏̀͑̎̑̀̌͊͛̋̿́͆̊̒̅́͑̈́̐̄̌͛̏̚̚̕̚͠Ȩ̶̢̯̝͓̪̣̰̭̲̼͉̰̣̬̖̻͒̈͊̉̈̆̍S̷̡̧̛̛̫̮͖͍̭͚̼̱̜̫̠͚̩̭̮̞̳̆͗̃͌́͛͛̾͐͆͆̃̒̇̔͑́͊̎̏́̎͌̉̽̓̋̍̔̑̈́́̽͋̉̀̄̅̔͊̎͛̅́̄̒̌̽̐̌͂͒̆͑͆̕̚͘̚͝͝͠͝ ̴̟̪͎̬̠͓̥̠̟͉̣͙̥̜̘̭͑̒͑͌̄͐͑͗́̈́͛̌̌́̃̈͆̀̔̓̽͂͛͆͛́̔̿̐͐̕͘̚͝͝͝I̶̢̡̨̢̨̖̘̦̳̜̭̰̣̼̘͓͙̬̤̰̪͇͕̖̮̺͍͚̱͓͉̠͎͚̟͉͎̝̺̲͉̥̫͎̣͈̻͖̖̲̮̻̩̪̹͚̠̭̺̩͒̋͛̌͆͋̋̾͐̅͌́̇̏͗͋̃̏̂́̚͘͠ͅF̵̢̨̨̛̹͔̯͎͈̮̻͍̪̹̖̗̣̫̲̗͕̥͕̟̙̰̭͈̠͈͉͕͈̤̥͔̬̯͓̜͖̦͉͍͔̭̥̱̈́͛̈́̆̀́͂̃̇̆̉̐̉͂̊͒͗̊̋͊̉̈̆͂͑̅́̆͐̎͂̿̊͊̆̂͂̎̔͋͗̐̈́̎͆͋̔̃̄͒̉͌͘̚̕͠͝͠͝ͅ ̸̱̠̔̓͋̃̀̇̈́̓͐̂͊̇̔̾̍́̃́̌̑͑̇̋͌̓̅̔̏͐̃͊̃́̊́̀̇͌̓̒̌̆̂̊͆͗͆̀͘͘͝͠͝͝͝͝͝Ý̷̢̢̧̨̡̧̛̮̯̜̤͇̝̠̮̟̦̗̦̺͙̖͕͇̟̲̫͍͍͇̙̳̱̰͓͔̻̣̩͍̺̻̭̗̝͈̬̻̭̙͕͔̫̬̬̺͕̩̞͖̰͇͖̙̜͓̄̀̏̈̓̋̑͒͆́͑́̔͌́̊̓̆͋̀̑͂̆́̾̐̐̈́̓͒̎̓̀̈́͆̏͝͝͠͠͠ͅÒ̷̧̧̨̢̠̲̤̞̟̳͈̠̞͈̠̞̠͙̯̱̹̗̞͈̼͖͕̣̜̩̅́̓͗̐̈͊̌̾̾͋̒͋͂͋͐͒̑͂̈́͂͗̍̈̕͜͜ͅU̵̼̣̞̪̳̭̙̦̬̇̽͊͒͂͌͆͋̽̾̌̌̊͗̒̄̒͗̆̈̍̾̅͒̏̿̊̅̌̃͂̚̚͘͝͝͝͝͠ ̴̡̨͔̘̦͈͇̰̳͖̻̞̪͉̼̮͓̫̩̟͈̻̦̥̥̺̤̣̮͎̱̰͚̮͚̰̝̝͚̯̯͓͙͉̦̗͈͖̬̟̲͇̺̙̯̪̟̯͙̙̃́̾̔͒̆̿̌͌͜͜͜͝͠ͅͅT̵̨̡̢̛̥͚̠̳̩͈̭͇̠͍̬̫̪͍̲͈̤͔̣̞͖͍͍̺̈́̒͗͋͗̽̐̓̏̇̉̑̌̎̐̓̀̌̾̎̆̈́̓̓͘͝͝͠R̷̡̨̡̛̛̛̤̻̰̬̤͎̬̹̞̼͓̣̟̬̪̞̬̤̹͎̠̳̝͔̥͑̅̽̑̆̇͗͂́̆̒̆̾̃̈̉͗̒́͆̄̐̈́͋̔̔̇̈̽͐̓̀̓̈́̉̊̉̎̓͛̋̀̊͂̏͒̍͂͒̆̏͂̇̒́̅̔̽͗͗̏͘̕͘͜͝͝ͅͅY̸̧̨̨̧̡̧̪̬̙̙̻̝͍̮̯̥̖̻͕̥̦̜̳̰̘͙͚͉̪͇̹͎̗̦̫̳͖̣̣̙͚̖̖̳̮̼̫̖͚̬̝͕͖͓͉͆́́͛͋̉̋͒̌̋̓̉͊̔̿̇̈́̀̾̐͗͊͒́͂̆̾̃͊̀̀͝͝͝͝ ̸̨̢̡̧̡̨̙̺̗͍̺̬̺̮̟̬͔̲͔͇̥̙̖̞̯͇̪͍͕̦͔̥̘̻̞̫͇̥̯̯͇̗͕̳͔̜̼̳͈̩̳̪͖̯̺̝̗̝̰͖̘̤͍̻̬̪̬̱̝̬̒͒͑̂͐̽̊̈́͐́̀͗̾̒̔̋̾̆͒̓̆̂̀̐̊̎̐̍̀͊̏̚͝ͅḨ̷̧̧̧̧̨̢̡̛̣̯̮̠͕̠̯̝̘͚͓̩̳͉͈̲͎̩̥̦͎̬̣͎̥̙̠̥͕̝͔̯̞̯̺͎͇̦̝̹̥̓̊̎̿̿̀́͂͋̒̏͆͒̉̃̾̾͑͋̏̆̋̈̓͗̆͒͑̕̚̕̕͜͝͠ͅÉ̷̡̨̧̡̧̡̞͇̟̪͉̺̥̭̺̰̱͔̺͖̮̩̤͓̙̜̮̱̼͖̙̹͉̻͈̙̪̱̱͕͚̯̭̫̩͔͓͚̱̻̰̹̞͙̹͖̮̫͓͇̩͓̤͎̫̗͒̃̇̈́͌̿̋͐̀͊̇̎̇̒͛̍̆́͒̈͆̅͐̋́̈́͌͋̽́̿̊̽̔̃̀̐̍̽̈́̍̃͌̒̑̀̋̈́̀͋̄͘̚̕͜͝͠͝ ̷̡̧̨̡̧̡̧̢̛̛̛͖̖̻̱̬͇̮̙͖̱̠̞̫̬͍̖̤͙͎̦̮̫̻̦̠̲̜͙͈̥̞̀͊̈́̅̏̄͑͆͂́̓̋̐͂̂̀̋̒̓͒̎̓̎̀̈́͆̑͌̿͗̋̈̽̇̅̋̈́̐̈́́̑̅̂̕̕̕̕̚͘͘͝͠͝͠D̴͓̜͚̮͉̼͈̹̤̟̳̩̺͕͓̗͔̗̫͎̝̥̼̝͌́̇͒͒̌́͗̂̔̓́͗̒̒̈́͘̕̚̕̚͜͠͝͝͝ͅI̴̡̢̛̛̙̮̙̜̫̫̜̤̒̅͒̊̓̈́̓̍̀̽̎̀̉̿͆̔̂́̌͂̔̀̒̈̅̂̆̇̐͋̏̓̍͋̾̔̊̈́͐̏̓̈́́͑̽̂̄̊̈͗́̎̋͗͌̚͘͘͘̕͠͠͠͝͝͝ͅȨ̵̨̢̧̡̧̡̡̨̻̮̖͍͔̺̰͍̮̣̬̗̙̞̟̜͈̙̦̯̯̘̠̬͔͍̤͖̗̯̬̪͔͍͎͚̳̗̭͕̺̲͙͔̳̻͎̻̮͙͍͎̻͎̗̗͍̣̥͐͐̓̋͋̌͊͆͂̋̂͛̂̓̓̄̕͜͠͝͠ͅͅS̷̢̧̢̛̲͓̙͇̤̝͖͙̙̻͕̬̟̲̥͚͈̟̹̪̠͍̱̘̲̜̣͇̤̮̗̥̘̪̒̇̈́̋͆̄̉͂͛̆̑̆̒̾͂͆̆̋͂̌̏̿̉̃̂̾́̑̀̊́͒̑̐̃͝ ̸̡̨̛̫̯͇̹͉̝͇̘̳̲̖͈̻͓̦̤̳̰͔̈͒͂̿͐̎̀͗̐͌͆̓̎̐̓́̅̿̽͋̆̈́̈́̄̑͌̒̈́̍̉̑̏̀͛̀́͋̍́̆́̈́̆̑͛́̔͌͊̈͘͘̕̚͘͘͜͜͝͝͠ͅĬ̵̢̢̢̡̢͉̺͇͈̪͍͕͖̥͔̝̭̹͍̙͚̖̰̠͍̹͍̬̭͖͙̼̩̗̩̘͈̱̲̫̪̮͖̰̦͒̃́͌̃̂̆͊̂͋̽̂͗́͒̾͑͊̔́͘F̶̛̩͖̰͚̺̞̻̳́̐̓̑͆̅̋̓͆͗́͐́͋͒͌̿͆͌̓̊̇̓̍̋̂͊̅̅̈́͌̅̈̄̓̇̿̌͒̃͋̅͒͆͘̕͘͝͝ ̸̛̘̥̟͋̅̽̾̚Ŷ̷̡̧̧̡̧̢̭̝̱̤̤͎̪͖̹̖̝̲̫̺̟̯̱͔͖̹̥̜̮̲̣͖̘͈̮͉̟̦͍̲̮̼̺͔̤̫͚̣͎̗̰͉̠̜͍̫̦̩̄̏͋̑̀̍͋̿̐̇͋͊̔̾̊̎̅̈́̈̈́̓͑̈́̌̈̐́̇͌̀́͌̓̃̏͐̇͒̄͛̌̉͘͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅÖ̵̹͔̩̬̤͓̘͈͓͚̪̦̥͚̪̫́̀́͂͒͋̐͛̆̽̈́̃̂̈̏̅̀̓͌̈͛̈́̅̅̍̈́̉̓̾̈́́̊̚̚͘̚͘͝͝͝͝Ư̸̧̛͖͚̣͈͚̖͉͉̤̳̠͓͈͚̈́̓͊͛̎̐͋̀̍̂͗̽͌̂̉͊̅̈́̐́̀̊͒͐́͘̕̚͜͝͝ ̶̨̨̧̨̛̛̜̰̼̥̜͇̳͕̳̱͔̱̱͚͇̖͓̖̤̲̞͎̠̻̻͎̯̼͈̺͕̬̙͈͖͎͇̦͉͕̗̭͈̻̦̞̮̩̼͇͎̯̠͕̳́͌͆̾̀̃̔̀̆̂̅̀́̿̂̉̍̓̿̅̅̎̾̿̇̎̏̄̀̔̊̏̎̌͗̚͘͜͜͜͠͠͠ͅͅT̷̢̛̛̛̬̲͈͕͖̳̳̠͇̿͐̔̓͑͛̅̾̑́̇͐̄̐̍̔̔͐̎̀̉̋̒̀̊̎͗͒͒̚̚͘͠͠Ŗ̴̧̡̡̧̨̛̛̺͖͕͎̞̣̤̝̦̗͖̩̬̥̦̦̞̮̭̥̣͇̠͕̟͔̳͎̞̹͙̙̯̪̰͚̲̪͕̜͍͔͙̞͍̺̭̥̩̪̮͚̯͙̳͕̗̥͔̺͙̼̂̀͑̿̃̐̏̉́͒̿̈́͐̈́͑́͂̎̐͑̅͒̐̈́͒̃̍̐̀̂̈̄͆̈̄̀̀̒͗̀͊̃͑̑̅́̀́̾́͆̈̾̐̉̊͗̂̕͘̚͝͝͠͝ͅY̵̡̨̢̨̩̗̳̪̤̤͍͓̼̫̦̼̰̯͇̹͕͇̘̺͈͍̙̬̪̞̼͉͈̞̮̙̖͚̰̲̺̯̜̾̓͛̔̀̒̐̾̄̆̈̑̾̂̽̕͜͜͠Ḩ̵̢̢̨̢̢̧̨̢̢̹͓̤̰̜̘̙̥̩̮̱̻͔͎̝̠̫̥͎̻̙̪̼͚̝͉͙̠̮͔̻̳̥̹̹͕̖̹̫̺̞̻̮͉͉͍͙͔̳͈̜̲̜͎̘̳̟̮̱̣͔̯̝̯̪̯͍̯̟̱̗̙̰͚͖̋͐̄̆͒̽͑̉̌̎̀͑̚͘͜ͅͅͅͅͅE̴̡̧̧̡̨̨̢̡̡̡̛̛̞̝̩͈͙̰̖̗͎̮̟̯̟̦̪̝̖̳͚̯̝̤̦̗̝̥̜̫͈͕̫̟̙̠̱̬͈͙͙̮̪̱͚̼̦͈̭̺̟̯̰͓̮͔̫͈͕̭͇͙̙̩̲̭͔͚̖̻͇͎̻͖̙̹͕̳͍͆̔̒̊̽̐̋̾̾͌̓͗̑͛̋̄͐̽̐͆̅̉̇͊͐̔̎̐̒͊̅̊͆͒͑́͘͜͜͜͠ͅͅ ̸̧̛̛̛̭͕̹̙̮͓͑̀̆͒̎̍͌̀̐̓͐̏̂̈̊̄͌̂̄̌̇̈̌͊͊͂͐͆͆͛́̏̀͋̓̃͗̀͛̆̓́̓̒̆͒̈́͋̂͛̌͂̊͑̆̐͗͆͌̑̋͊̅̔̿̉̓̎̉͛̏͌̍͐͌̉̔̔͗͊͑̍̇̾̆̀͐̈͛̆̆͂̈͒̂̋͋̍̑̐͒͑̕̕̕̕̕͘̕̚̕̚̚͘͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅD̴̡̧̛̰̱̖͖̱̠̣̭̖̘͙̮͎̣̋̅͋̔͊̎̓̈́̎̈̈́̓̓̌̀̄͒̐̇̓̊͋͋́̄̃̏̈́͗͆͋̋̈́̀͂͌̈̓͘̚Ȉ̴̧̢̡̛̛̛̗̣͈͍͉̜̰̞̤͉̼͉͚̗̼͈̲̱̩͙̖̭͕̥͚̰͙̟̘̹̞͙̯͉̥̫̗̮̼͎͉͈̀̊̒͑̈́̔͂̍̍̓̀̀̄̄̑͛̽͌̄̉́̿͂̈͊̌̒̉̽̔̆̎̃͑̾̐͑̍͐͂̌͘̕̚̕̕͜͠ͅĘ̴̢̢̛̛̛͍̙͓̫̞̬̠͚͖̦̤͚̦͚͔̯̹̟̱͉͉̮̭͉͎͇̦̗̹͉͇̥͔̻̼̗͙͚̟͎̹̩͖̣̬̭̺̱̝̺̘͍̹̰͕̫͓͎̒̓́̔̓̾͒́̎́̒̊͛̈́͂̀͋̒̇̎̇͌́̋̓̓̈́̌̐̔͐̑͊͛͋̿͒̄̐̽͋͒̓̅͆̃̀̿̂͌̓̇̎̿̈̒́͌́̀̐̄̋́̾́͊͂͂́͗̏̌͊̑̍̑̑̅͘͘͘̕̚͘̕̕͘͜͝͝͝͠͝͝Ş̴̢̧̡̡̧̛̛̛̛̛̝̺̗̟̯̯̩͇̝̻͓̩̬̮̠̳̙͎͔̭̻̫̩̪̥̬̲̤̰̠̤͇͕̣͇̠̲̻̼̖͈̬̹̺̺̗͈̩̖̭̱̙̯͕͔̰͍̳͉̳͔̰̺̩͕͇̥͍̬̹̩̻̩̺͓̩̫̪͚̬͔̲͇̩̘̰̑̾̃͋͌͑̈͗̃̋̓́̄͋̓̉̃͑͐̈́̓͌̍̓̂̑̔̅̔̄̂͗͂̽̎́͒̉̎͌́̀́̿͗͋̊͛̊̍̔̔̐͆̍̅̓͑͂̆͛͒̃͒͑̄̿̔̌̑͂̍͛̅́̎͌̓̒̃̊͛͂̇͌̋̀̔͌͌̇̈̃̄̎̌͛͘̕̚̕͘͘͘͘̕͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͝͠͝ͅ ̷̢̨̢̧̛̫̙̤̘̗͍̣̙̭̮̬͙͈̟͎̭̬̥͚̼̯͙̺̝̳̪͚͓̖͎̘̳̥̞͕̪̗̯͔̲̼̝̺͓̑̑͂̑̈̎̆͌̐̄̈́̀́͒̅̔̓͆̾̐̏̈͋͌̉̔̽̋̈́̋͐̏̀̂̄̒̒̐͒̀̑̍̆̋̊́̽̌͂́̀͋͆̔̊͛̿̀̄͐͊̉̅̓͂̎̒͑̇͛̎̉͌̏̌̑̉͛͘̚͘̚̚͘̚͜͝͠͝͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅI̶̧̡̡̢̧̧̛̛̻̠̥̪͔̫̺̟͙̩̬̘͕͎͍̫̣͕̠̺͕̠̖͓͖̺̘̬̪̱͙͇̥͙̮̥͚͙̦̜̯͈̫̳̹̒̑̊̈́͐̀̌̃̉͂̏̓̆̈́͋̏̈́͊̐̉̈͐̄̐̂̿́̊̒̀̈́͂͌͒͊̾̎͒͗̃͛̄̀͐͆̍̃̈͂̐͒̉̐͑̎̉͋́̃͌̓̽̌̆̄͌̆̂̑́̽̆͋̿̊̑͆̌̾͆̊̊͋́͑̏̄̏͑̏͊̓̂̈͑͋̌͊̌͂͂͐̈̄̉̂̚̚͘͘̕̚͘̕̚͜͠͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͝F̴̢̧̡̢̨̡̡̨̡̛̩͇̗̫̠̘̫̖̼̠̙̣͓̼̱͎̖̯̗̣̦̪͓̳̣͙͓̗̠̮̫̯̣͍̣̭̯̳̖̱̰̦͈̯̬̺̲̲̱͙͔͓̱̟̫͉̭̘͔̰̫̱̩̦̘͍͈̻͚̰̺̤̣͉̮̗͓̖̥̬͗͛̍́̓̎̑͑͛̆̒̏͒̀̒̅̀̈͗̌͊̈́̌͆̑̊̆͒͆̇̈̍̿͐̽̒͐̚̕͘͜͜͜͜͝͠͠ͅͅ ̶̨̨̡̡̨̢̧̧̧̢̡̡̧̨̧̧̹̩̞̮̗͔̙͍̞̬̯̲͇͈͚͔̗̳̟̙̙͍͇̟̣̖͚̪͎̹̭̥̰̹̼̻̩̝̜̼̝̬̟͕͍̣̦͓̣͉͔̹͍̥̟̳͓̤̲̻͎̝͓͍̖͎̼̺̰͉̯̦̝̱͇̗̜̻̰̣̤͍̫̼̟͉͈͓̠̥̜̻̲͉̹͔̥̲̝̹̯̰̳͍̱̖͚͗̊͊̂̅̄͛̐̋̾̈́͘͘̚͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅÝ̸̨̢̧̡̧̢̡̧̢̢̡̢̛̗̙̗̲̰͈͎̹̞̞̗̖͍̳͕̠͚̬̙̗̜̜͉͙͇̻̤̟̳͖̟͇̞͉͚̗̜̞̖̱͚̻̯͖͙̣̗͗͋̇́͒͗͑͒̔̈́́̽̊͆̈̋̃̏̄̋̿̓̈͋͋̅̃̇́̒͋̐͗̇̽͊͒̋̈́̔̽̒̕͘̚̚͜͜͝Ơ̶̡̢̡̢̡̡̲̲̳͔̤͎̗͍̫͉̩̱̟̻̯̖̖͉̗̼̜̖̳͍͍̟̝͎̻̠͓̻͉̝͚̠̝̘̮̣̋̏͐̓̍́̉͒̐͐͆̑̊͂̃͜͜͜ͅͅƯ̷̢̢̡̡̢̡̡̨̡̧̛̛̱̪̫̱̗̳̗̞̺͔̬͙̬͉̪̜̺̣̘̗͖͓̣̬̮̮̭̟̬̰̲͔͍͎͉͙͍͈̞͚͚͕̱͉͙͈̗͖̰̥̳͚̭̝̰̟͍̙̺̖̩̣̫̟͕͙̺̭͍̩̮͍̙̝̯͉̞̺̯͖̙͙̤̩̼̹̟͎͎̞̫̥̱̻̗͓̳̬̥͈̙̘͒̾̆̑͐̂͗̏̌̋͂̈́͒̈́̅̊̊͐̈̃̀̉̽̈̈́̋̑͑̑̉̆̎̂͑̂́̈̿͆͗̈́̈́͐͛̎͗̏̈͂̒͐͂͗̑̈̽͑̂̃̍̑̃̇̃̏̒͒͑͐̔͗̍́͌͋̄̃͋̌̽̔͂̕̕̕͘̕͘͘͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠ͅ ̸̡̨̨̧̛̛̛͙̱̠̫̭͍͚̞̝͍̭̫̬͙̗͔̙͈͍̥̗̯̲̤̲̮̥̮̮̹̰̗̆̃̂͒̀̃̓̈́͋̓̿̊̇̌̑̈́̈́͂̀͆͆̈̃̎͐͌̄͂͊̊̈̐̈́̌̓͑̅͑̍̆̈̌̾̒̾̀̆͗̐͐͆́̾͆͐͑̏̉́̇̾̅͛́͋̃̏͗̀́͌̇̿̏̿̏͐͊̅͑̿͛͑͊̉̑͋̀̕̕͘̚͜͜͝͠͝͝͠͝͠͝͝ͅT̴̡̧̧̧̡̢̧̳͉̞͔̩̙̖̤͈̰̝̖͔͔̙̜̺͖̘͇̥͙͇̲̱̬̬̜̲̭͖͖̼͉̥̖͖̱̰̮͕̂̒̆̃͆͒̎́̑͗̿̀̈́̈̑̄͋̈́̈͋̔̓̂́̈́́̀͑͌͒̓̈́̏̓̊́͌͛̄͒̃̎͑́̍͑́̐̀̓̽̏̄͗̇̊͐̔́͒̑̏͘͘̚͘̕͘̚͜͜͠͠͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅR̵̡̧̛̛̰͇̭̘̬̙͓̲͇͈͈̖̝̼̠͈̺͙̰͈̺̲̺̹̙̝͍̭̳̫͕͙̦̻̖̦͈̃̆̽̒̅̒̓̊̏́͊͒̽̄̅̐͐̈́̈́̑̏̃̓̄̔̇͌̓̈́́̒̇͌͛̏͐̒̇̀͌̍̍̐̉͒͐͆͐̀̈͆͛̐̌̌̇̒́̐̎͒͊̿̏̾̍̄͒̏̂͑̋͛̍̃̾͘͝͠͠͠͝͠͠͝ͅY̴̢̛̛̩̭̩͉̙̱͓̯͍̬͎̻̪͈̱̺͉̻̳̥̩̘̬̹͈̠̠͓̫͙̲̲̱̳̭͎̲̺͎̫̖̬̰͈͌̋͆͊̂̈́̐̌̊̾̆̍̾̃̾̋̐͛̔͗̈́̐̒͌̋̓̉̓̔͑̈́͂̂͊̂̓͒̑̒̃͌̂̅̎̑̉̉̎́̀͒̌͌͒̅͑͋̈̊̓̕̕̚͘̕̕̕͘͘͘͝ͅ ̴̡̧̨̧̧̢̧̢̨̨̛̛̪̹̯̙̰͍͈̩̥̞̠̗̮̰̦̥͇̥̼͖̰̦͖͈̱̥̪̻͔͎͔̖̼̲͈̱̟̞̪̱̞͙̠̟̞͕̩̣̘̭̘̫̻̹̺̺̖͉͚͓̤̫̭͙̰͓̼͈͔̤̭̪̠͙̥̝̤̮̭̝̗̱͉̝̘͍͉̙̲͇̙̠͖͈̣̽̓̇̇̇͛͛̈́̑̔́͌̆̿͆̽̅̎̓̆̀̈́͑́͛̒̎̾̑͆̈́̊͛̾̑̌͂̓̈̎̒͛̈́̔̎̕͘͜͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅȞ̸̢̨̧̛̺̠̩͇̤̘̭̼̖̥̥̬̯̳̘̘̦͎̖͇̲̱̈́̀͗̏͐̔́̀̋̀̈̒͂̽͆̿̌͐̒̓͒̓̃̍̐̒̓͋̃͊̀͛̍̉̈́͂̽̃̓̆͛̌̀̊͌̅̇̄̎̇̔̅̾̿͐̎̄̉̾̍̂̾͋̎̇̌́̏̐͗̓̍̅̓͊̔̊̎͆̆͆̐̿͆̚̕̕͘̕̕̕̚͠͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͠ͅĘ̶̢̢̢̧̡̙̣͓̘̪̰͍̟̩̟͉̞̼̟̥̘͎̹͓̤̜̲̥̖̺̙͚̣̥̝͑̏̊̑̀̎͒̀̇́̓̋͘͜͠ ̶̡̛͎͎̩͖̖͚̖͓̯̫̄͌̽̏̑̇̐̏̈́͑̽̇̈́̂̒͊͗͊̍̅̾̇͗͛͌̈́͑̂͊̌͊̆̓̐̄̍͊̏͊̈́̒͛̃̎̓̅͌͌͗̇̍̒̇͛̄͌̽͛͒̀̋̆͊͛̆͐̒̔̃̉͌͋̑̍͊̃̏̏̍͑̅̋͂͊͘͘̚͘͝͝͠͠͝͠D̵̨̨̨̧̢̡͖̻̭̱̭̺͓̙̰̪͔̟͈̳͉̟͚̺̺̯̻̼͎̺͍̲͎̖̯̳̪͓͙͖̣̖͎͔̤̪̼͙̺̪̼̗̠̝̭̺̬̬͈̬͖̥̓́̔͐̏̑̏͊͌̐̑̀̄͑͒̔͊͆͛̂̿̾͑̈͆͒͒͛̋͆͊͗̑̽͗̊̇̽͊̊͊̍̈́͋̂̑̑̉́̒̈́͗̔͋̑̑̎͑̏̕̕̚̕̕͝͠͠͝͝ͅĮ̵̡̡̨̧̨̭̼͍̰̙͇̳̣̱̰͕͕̭̫̠̼͇͎͖̩̺̘̹̰̬̖͖̤̹̘̾́͌̂͐̓̍̀͗̑͒̌̉́̕̕͜͠͠ͅͅË̵̡̡̢̡̧̦͔̟̼̦̫̟͓͎̗̪̱̲̳̻̬̲̩̪̯̤͔̥̥̣͖̳̗̫̠̼̠̼̲̭̖̦̞̲̹̝̄̽̿̌̂̔̊̔̑͊̚̕S̴̡̢̧̧̛̛͉̭̘͇͓̬̭̙͓̝̗̯͉̮̙̝͙̬̲̪̪̠̯͚͍͓̤̼͙̖͉̹̰̖͔̻̗̰̜̣̣͚͇̳͉̠͕̟̭̰̙̱̼̫̞͚̭͉͎͎̻̜͛̂̌̓͆͊͊̃͆̑͑̓̾̏̾͆̾́̂̎̈́̿̄̀̈̓̋̔̀̇͆̈̽̍̄͋̑̎̌̀̏̇̅̄̑̾̄͊͗̆̒̈́̌͋̂̏̉̈̿̾̊̄̆̍̄̊̅̌̅́́̊̏͋̕̚͘͜͜͝͝͝͝ͅ ̶̨̧̧̢̢̢̡̢̧̡̧̡̨̢̡̛̦̼̖̳̜̟̲̳̜̻̗̘̰̝͍̯̲̩̹͉̻̙̜͔̗̤̭̯̘̘͍̩͎̦͈̣̥̬̭̘̝̭͙̮̭̫̜̲͇̰͈̠͙͔̜͉̦̣̙̫̘̘̮͙̠̱̘̟̜͚̬͉̖̪̟̩̮̯͓͓͈̭͉͕̱̠̳̖͉̼͖̮̮͉̟͙̦̹͈̦̱͈̈̉̑͗̓́̃̍̐͛͒̾͊̋͒̈́̀̊̃̕̕͜͝͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅI̸̡̨̧̛̛̛̥̥͔̰̮̹̝̬̻̟̗͈̝̯̾͗̓̍̈̀̔͋̽̏́̿͛̋͌̈́̈́̍̊̅͒͛̃̌̅̄̄̐̆̀͐͊̂̿̈́̇̌̈́̂̓͋͊̇̏̈͊̌̂͛̋͌̂̾̍̀͂͒̋̅̔͐̓̑̕̚͘̕̕̕̕͝͠͝͠͝F̵̧̡̧̨̨̨̢̢̨̧̫̬͔̝̼̩̲̫͕̟̰̥̤̙̦̪̝̱̮̼̻̫͉̱̟̱̯̲̙̲̮̜͔͎̩̘̻̼̮̦̩̝͉̗̘͕̘̳͓̼͎̟̖̗̟̱̻͍͓̠͎̫̱͉̣͒̈́̋̽̊̉́̈̓̾͛̌̈́͑̔̅́͂͛̈͌͂̾̉̌̐̆̽̇̆̄͜ͅͅͅ ̸̡̡̢̧̛̬͍͚̘͔̞̼̪̙͓͙̙͕̰͕̣̹͎̹̣̭̘͉͉̹̯̣̖͙̦͇̳̥͎̩̜͎̻͓͓͇̤͕͖͛̋͒̏͐͆́͌̍͑͂̒̋̉͒͐́̀́͗̋̃̿̔̆̽̅̂̎̌͛̽̉͛̑̀̔͊͂͊̓͂́͊̿̋͋͌̊͒̑̉̽̐͌͊̇͗͆͂̆̈̾͘̕̕̕̚̚̕͠͝͝ͅY̶̡̢̛̛̛͎̬̩̺̟͖̲̤̲͓̝̻̱̭̊̃̍̀̈̎̄͂́̎͗͐͋͂̽̆̋̀̊̌̀̅̈̅͌̄̃́͗́̅̈́̀͐͆͌̃̏̋̔̎͆̄̏͒̑̄̾̍͐́̓͗͒͒̈̿̋͂̍̅̄͐̊̔̎̔̍͆̾̏̒̌̀͛̔͗͌̎̐̊̽̆̓̽̉̕̚̕͘͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝Ớ̶̧̨̢̡̛̛͉̤̠̥̭̘̱͕͕͚͚̣͉̬̥͎̤͕̗̝͈̩̣̝̬̯̤̘̦̮̻̤̦̙̖͍̣̫̥͕̠̗̮̜̭̞̗͖͕̫̜͚̻̝̤̘̦̪͈̖̞̫͔̰͍̮̟͔̮̗̜̮̤̜̲̘̼̖̎̿̋̓͂̄̇̓͐͗̀̌̾͂̅̾̓̈́̈́̀̈́̐͗̋̂́͛̊̉̋̈́̓̆́͒̇́̑͐͊͗̓͌͑̽̂̾̆̑̅̿̍̉̍̓͆͗̄͒̔̑́͒̂̌̍̿͑͛͆̽̔͌̒͌͂̔͌̐̊̍̋̑͌̃̎̿͂͆͑͂̌͒̄͒̑̔̔̾͆͐͌̈͌̾͘̚̕̚͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅỨ̴̡̧̢̛̠͎̯͇̻̹͇̻̞͍̮̠͚̣̖̞̜͈̰̰̤͖͈̥͙̳̞̻̻̜̤͐͆͑̇̀̍͋̽̈́̎̒̂̑̉̌̍̾̾̇̉̅͊̈́̍̏̾͋̀́͑̎̌̋̈́̏̿̋͗̀̂̅̏͑͊̈̅̑́̃̐̽̔͒̉͊̔̈̽̾̐̃́̌̐̽͐̋̃̅͊̎̍͌̈̑̍̌́̃͛͛̋͆̅͗͗͛̍̐̈̒̇̉͊̎͊͂̚̕͘͜͝͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅ ̷̡̡̡̡̢̡̧̢̛̛̯̹̥̣̹͖̮͓̼̦̖̠̝̣̗̯̰̻̣̮̠̮͈̦̤̯͚̠̞̖͚̫̰̳͇̝͎͖̗͓̬̗̥̲̞͙̹͍̲̠̦͈̘̯̝̥̺̙̻̦̼̞͈̻͖̪͇̬̼̄̈̓͒̑̀̏͋̋͊͋́̀̈̽̇͊͑̍̌̈̎̉͗̊̕̚͜͜͝͝ͅT̵̡̢̳̫͉̣̱͇̗̣͉͔͚͖̮̣̞̯̦͇̟̤̭̭͚̩̟͚͇̗̟͇̫͚̤̮͓̘̪͓͖͔͈̤̣͓͇̟̣̱̹̰̣̘͓̞̻̺̲̱̬͉̼͔͈͖̈́̄́̎́̋̊̃̈́̈́͂̅͒̉̈́̓͋́̄̂̿͗̉͑̑̐̾͂̀͛̈́̉̏̄̈̍̍̀̂͛͗̅͛́͗́̈͗̿̏̅̆̍͂̊̏̔͛̇̽͂̇̚͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͠R̸̡̧̨̢̡̡̢̨̧̢̛͖̞̱͖͔͚͇̝̠̰͍̞̜̳̳͕̤̙̣͙̣̭̗̰̙̟̜͇͚͍͈͙̻͙̣͚̳̹̠̼̠̱̪̻̟͎͔̱͖͈̥͎͓̹͕̩̫̮̹̼̰̥̝͖͍̹͖̙͙̘̝̗͍̞͉̥͓͇̥̭̈͑̅͂̍̈̈͊́͌̅́̈́͋̋̆̏͒͆̀̐̽̑͑̽̊̈̈́̈̔͆̈́̇͌͑̊̈́͋̌̈́̓͊̃͌̀̒̌͗͗̊̏͛̎̈̆̓̿̽͊̄͂̈̈̌͘̚̚͜͜͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅY̵̡̢̡̧̨̧̡̢̧̖̙͓̫̬͉͈̹̬͇̹̜̭̫͎̖͎̞̱̼͉̹͖͓̯̰̩̰͔̟̮͙͉͔̺̳̙͚̪̪͉̳̭͇͇̙͕̞͖̯̬̱̙̳̙͉͙̤̻͓̺̖̹̜͇͉͕̘͕͎͔̤̱̤̬͙͓̜͚͈̪͈̦̼͒̀̿͗͌̕͜ͅ ̵̨̡̢̨̢̢̧̢̨̨̢̢̨̨̛̛̣̹͙̗̱̲̺̼̩̟̞̰͙̲͍̞͈̜͉̬͉̹̘̤̥͔͉͉̰̣̳̻͖̖͖̠̤̱̻̻̜̻̘̮̳̲̘̗̟̖͉͖̗̣̻͓̞̪͓͓͈̱̲̺̤͙̟̤̩͈̻̥̟̥̩͖͉̺͓͕̞̘͎̗̣̫̺̹̪̟̙̬͙͓͓̭͓̳̟̦̆́͗͛̄͋̀͛̊͐̑̎͆̄̈́̀̍͒̈́͑̊͗̒́́̀͒̎͋̓͗̇̋̀̀͛͂͊̇̾͂͛̔̆̈́́͑͑̂̍́̆̀͊̏̅̐̋̂̇͂̎̽̾̏́̏́̀͑̿̉̏̏̌́̍͗̀̈̅̄̓̾̽̐̌̌̿͗̅̒̃̎̒́̒̅̍̓̌̓͑̀͑͘̚̕͘͘͘̕̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͠H̸̛̛̛̛̺̺̮̥͍̫͔͚̘̘͔͙͔̟͇̳̗̞̤͈̩͎͚͑̂͂͆́͊̓̑̉̔̀̄̀͆͋̎̈́͆̄̈́̑͒́̋̌͋͛̉̾̄̉͒̄͗́̓̈́̓́͛̓̓͐͛̌̈̎͂̽͛̊̏̈͛̇͒́̌̇͂̉̉͘͘͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅE̶̡̨̡̢̢̧̧̛̛̛͕͔̫͍̮̬͉̞̘̙͕̱̤̼͓̰̠̤̗̯̖͉̥̝̯̣̮̳͖͙̳̬̞̦̣͎͉̭̗͕̟̟͎̞̖̳̼̦̘̱͎̭̬͉͙̰͕͕̭̮͉̖̭̩̤͍͛̽͌̈́̉̑̀͆͑̓͆͛̌̾́̒͐̋͛̉̊͆͂̈̌̌͌͌̽͂͘̚͘̚͜͜͝͝͠͝͠͝ͅ ̵̢̢̨̨̡̧̛͇̖͓͇͍̞̜̰̣̬͕͎͇̼̭͈̣̤͉̺͙͙̱̥̯̜͙̘̅̌̈́͐̉̏̾̀͑͋̆͆͋̀̍͌͋́́̎̓̈̐̌͗̀̂̆͋̑̈́̅͛̃͐̇̈́̍̅͒͊͐͆̊̌͗́́̈́̀̈̒̿͊̽̾̉̈̈̍͋͂̇̐̐͘̕͜ͅD̵̡̨̡̡̨̢̧̧̢̢̡̧̛͎̝͔̯͇̼͖͇̯͈͔̬͇̺̼͓̣͇͈̱̠͉͈̦̼͕͖̤̠̮̠̠̝̫̯͓̜̰̜̭͚͈̟̖̲̺̠͚̮̞͚̻̝̤̣̭̯͕͕̻͎̗̱̱̦̼̫͇̮͖̥͕̳̥̠̣̳̟͈̰̟̫̱̪͚͎̦̠̖̞͈͉͗̿͆̍͛̌͆͛̇͛̾̑̂̐͌̀͆̿̈́̀̈́͌͑̒͛̌̆́́̏́̇͛̀̍̆̓̓͒̾̂͗̒̽͒̈́͒͒̓̓̚͘̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅͅĮ̶̧̡̡̡̧̧̢̧̡̢̛̖̞̯̫̯̥͇̞̗̜̫͙̦͓͍̭̖̫̗̩͙̰͍̮͎̬̗͔̣̰̰̺͓͎͖̦̳̱͉̺̣̱̦͍̣͇͓͓̮̮̹͔̰̩̝͚̱̦͈̲̼͚͚͇̫̮̳̮͇͈̟̤̟̝͇̹͕̬̣̟̼̳̤̦͎̟͙͈̬̲̜͍͖̮̮̝̹̪̤͖̘̠̙̭͔̣͎͕̼̖̩̲͍̘͕͐̏̀̆͋̈́́̇̀̊̂̑̆̍͌̀̾̓̈́̀̈́͂͋̉̈́͗́̈́́̅̾̏̀̂͗̔̇̀́͂̓͗͐̀̄́͒̿͌͘̚̕͘̚̕͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠ͅẼ̸̡̡̢̡̧̡̢̢̨̛̛͕̦̹̳̫̼͔̝̜̦̗̘̲̝̣̞̰̝͕͕̘͍͇̘͚͙͓̙͚͇͍̹̙̹̱̟̞̰̳͓͎̱̪̰̩͖̝̻̬̲̮̤̘̰̬̺̙̦̩̭̥̏̍̾͌̊̈́̏̒̏͑̇͂̾͋͌͐͊̒̍̔̓̍̀̓̏̎̑̽͂͐̎̔͂̎̊̏̃̒̈́̽̿̈́͊̔̔̑̿̄̆͊̂̃̈́̒̆̽͊́̏̊̓̈͂̑̇̅̐͐̄̃̽̏̈̔̋̋̌̑͑̄̋̂̎͆͆̌̽̓̈̑͊͆̂̾̎̒̄͊̾͛̈̈̒͊͘͘͘̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠ͅS̶̨̧̢̢̨̛͖̻̪͔̬̙͕̠̙̬̤͉̤̝͔̳͙̦̠̤̝̺̜̬̝̦̟͙̙̟͈͙̝͓͙̭͓̟̖̙̺̺̩̯̣͙̼̝̹͙̜͕̰͙̼̥̣̣͖̫̹̬̼̭̣͓̭͎̩̥̮͈͔̜͔̥͖̻̟̘̳̣͍͎̭̞̯̳̰͔͍͎͍͙̠̗͚͕͍̱̤̫͖͈͙̬̯̝̞̘̥̩͒̾̑̂́́̈́̇̊͛͂̎̂͐͐͛̃̂̾͊̂̒̑͑̓̎̿̄̃̄͒̋͒́͐͑̕̚̚͜͜͜͝ͅͅ ̵̢̧̢̨̢̢̨̧̢̧̛̛̛̙͚͔͚̣͓̱̥͙̰͖͖͎̝͇̰̖̱͙̦̠̣̯̦̘̦̤̠͚̼͈̹̜̜̺͚̹̺̮͓͚̰͍̠̮͕̼͍̳̱̤͍͖͉͔͎̰͇̖̣̱̻͚̞̝͎͓̥̦̼̬͇̪̤̲̪͎͙̬̬̞͕̠̱̣̙̠͇̪̯̰̘̘̾̓͋̓́͒̀͌͂͋̀̂̔̓̌̄̏̔̊̾̊̏̏̑̐̈́̀͗͊̎̈̏͑̌̅̀̃̅̇͗̈́̄̓̊̏̐̈́̀̓̒͐̽̄̃̿̀̂̽̏̓̏̿͆͐̓̎̒͒͒̄̄̽̋͗̆̎̌͋͛͋͘̚̕͘̚̚͜͝͠͝͝I̷̡̡̡̨̜̹͎̝͙̺̦͍̭̜̫̭̠̘̬͍̼͔͓̻̙̩̬̦͙͔̯̟̘̹̖̱̠͕̜͎̜̟̦͊͊́̿͊̂̇͌͋́͊̑̕̚͝ͅͅF̶̨̨̧̡̛̛̰̱̗̖̰̣͚̮̳̞̩̪̦͇̯̗̤̠̖͇̤̝̦̙̗͈̭͓̺̋̎̿̊̎̎̍̄̏̈̿̔́̄͌͗̀̆̓̑̀͂̒̏̊̂͊̄͆̋͋͑̋̔͐́̋͊̆͑́͊͊͊̓͐̆̀̋̎͆͆́̂̉̓̌̒͒̃̿̐͛̇̇̎͊̏̚̕̚̚̚̕͘̕̕͠͠͠͝͝͝ ̶̨̡̧̨̡̧̢̢̨̧̢̛̞͖̗̖͔͖̱̝̠̼̩̼͓̙͕͉̦̙̖̬͖̖̥̱͎̬͇͔̙̺̺̻̤͔̭͙̞͉̩͔̜̙̘̞̥̠̠̘̱̟̤̼̙͕̫͙̟͇̞͓̠̜̮̭͈̦͖͔̮͙͂͑̒͊̓͊͛̄͋̂̐̆͛́̂̅̀͊̽̀̂̃̾͐͊̎͋̒͑͊͌̊̐̀̆́͒̄͒̎̑͗̅͑͐̿͑͒͊͂̋̆̎̇͑͗́̐̂͆̔̍̃͊́͌̓̀̎̽̉͘̕͘̕̚͘̚̚̕͜͜͜͝͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅY̴̛̥̘̲̆̅̀̔͂́̈́̾̇̿̉̏͒͐̈̂́̃͗͌̅̈̑̏́̃̇̓͒̚̕̚͠͠Ǫ̴̢̨̢̧̢̧̧̢̨̨̧̢̛̛̛̙͕͕̙͔͚͍̮̭͚͙͖̩̤̫̬̝̜̻̰̻͎̪̭͇͎̦͈͍̙̠̺̯̝͔̳̘͓̭̞̜̰̺͔͓͉͙͇͕͕̦͈̗̘͔͈̼̮̮̺̫͕̖̰̖̩̹̣̰̞͚̩̞͍̙̻̣̖̘̗̦̼̹͕͔͍̲̖͐̌͗̋̓̇̑͐̏̾̇̒͆̿̒̽̏̍̾͂̐̍̓̃̈́̈͆̀͗͋̂͑̍̔̾̎̄̔͌͒͒̈̏̀̇̉̌̌͐̍̿̐͐̀̾̿̐̑͆̓̋̒̏̓͆̔̓͛̒̆̉̽͂̾͒̏͋̏̊̒͑̾̃̀͆̑̅͂̿̃̑̐͐̈̑̓̄͌̅̍̆̾̇̀̕̕̕̚͘̚͘̕̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅƯ̷̡̧̡̢̧̧̨̼̗̳̠̩̺̥͓̳̘̭̘̻̰̤͚̦̙̠̳͉̣̤̞̦̥̦̥͍̞̣̗̗̘̘̬͍͓̥̤͔͙̊͐̋͑͗̂͊̈́͆̇̄͌̔̈͗̒̄̓̏͂̇͗̂̈́̎̇̍̈̑̃͌͐̊̽̾̓̓̓̎͋͋̉̄͂̐̎͂̿͂̏̉̔̉̾̔͋̊͐̒̄̿͗̇̂̇̾̀̇̚̕͘̚͜͠͠ͅͅ ̸̡̨̧̡̧̧̢̢̛̛̤͎̤̭̖̱͉̹͎͕̟̥̮̱̬̦̹͖̝̩͔̘̜͔͔̭͙̪̫̳̠̫͕̝͇̖̰͕̘̪͇̦̩̠̻͉͓̰͚̩̤͉͚̻̪̩͇͖͍̱̩̰̞͉̞͚̞̰͕̤̳̯͈̺͔͔̥̺̤̤̱̣̖̝͉̗̝͓͖͔͇͍̼̙̯̞͔̺̭̣͉̱͓̝̠̜͖͍̪̱͉̼̞̮̙̘̞͉̪̯͖̣͎́͑̀͋͑͛͒̐̂̔͒͌̾̐̀̃͗̊͐͆̐̍̑͐͛̿̿͂͋̀͐̍̏̀̿̆̾̋̈́̄͗̽̋͆͊͗̂̈́̌̽̈́̄̕͘̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͠T̵̢̨̧̨̢̢̨̛̗͉̳̪̗̰̮͕͓̲̞͙̼̻̤̹̱̪̯̥̰̥̥̘͈̫̫̜̦̤͈͕̯̗͇̯̹̭͓̰̝̳̝͕̬̙͍͖̺̦̼̥̯̖͔̞̠̻̰͖̭̜̗͓͎̳̦̱̳̩̖̝̫̫̜̪̯̩̗̞̐̓̋̓̀̔̆̓͊̍̋̃̇͗̌̀͐͊̈́͂́̎͗͒͆̃̅̈̋̂̃̏̐̊̒̈́̾̎̔̂͌͒͂̅̊͛̄͑͒͛͐͆̍̂̋͐̾͗̆̋͘̕̕͜͜͝͝͝Ŗ̸̛̛̛̫̯̜̳͉̼̠̩̙̮͚͙̥̘̙̺̺̲͔͙͈͓̩̠͉̳̼͈̟̤͙̳͉̺̹̘̳̻͈̯́̇̀̅̈́́̾̉͆̽̅͌̀̈́͑̀̈́͑̏͆̓̈́͂̓̍͋̇͗̃̓̈́̆̀̐̓̿͑́͂͐͆͂̈́̂́̀̓̇̐͆̋͂̀̐͛̇̐̀͆̒̓̊́̍̄̊͋̄̾̄͛̈̏̚̚̕͘͘̚͜͝͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅY̴̡̢̢̨̧̡̧̢̢̡̧̢̧̢̛͇͈̬̬̤̰̺̙͎͔͓̝̠͎̖̪̟̫͓̟͙̬͈̱͙̯̙͍͔͔̬͚̤̰͔̜̺̩̥͖͈̝̻̺͍͔̹̠͎͈̘̬͚̜̤͖͔̙̩̦̰̭̹̘̟̣̪̝͕̩̜̞͔̥̯͖̻͇̪̮̹͎̘̙̦̣̱̦͎͉͉͚̹͉͇͎̱̜̙̗̭̣͓͉̟̩͓̝͍̱̦̮̩̩̯̬͎͂́̓̎͊̈́̾̏̈́̈́̓̈̈́̊̎̀̊̆̌̀̉̐̀̃̅̊̀̚̕͘͘̚̕̕͜͜͜͜͜͝͠ͅͅͅ ̴̨̡̢̨̧̡̧̡̢̧̢̧̡̢̨͈͍̺͓̯̗̫̖̘̳̲͚̳̪̮͎͖̰̘̙̦͓̜̜̯͇̗̮̤͙̞̞̩̥̱̙̮͉̺̼̺̜͈̟̟͉̖̫̭̳̝͎̮̬̭͙̣̬̻̺̫̣͈̜͙͓̥͍̱̳͉̰̦̟̥̱̟̞͍̯̺̩̰͍͍̹̮͍͚͎̦̮͍̯̣̙̆͛̽̈́̔̈́̊̀̑͋́́̄̈́͑̀̎̃͐̓̀͌͂̒͛̀̐̊́͊͆̓̀͑̊̈́͌͂̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅH̴̡̧̧̡̡̡̢̧̨̛̛̠̮̤̰̣̦̩̜̣̻̳̞̟̠̣̮̠̝̠͈̜̙̫̩̼̬̱̣̲̝͈͎͓͉͍̙͎̯͉͉̰͇̻͕̬͇̳̯̮̼̤͙̰͍͓͔͓̜̘̘̭̮͖̖̜̻̯̝̳͎̭̘̳̼͙͍̱̗͖̝̝̙̫͙͉͙͖͕̻̯͇̪͙̯̮͚̀̎͋̃̒̂͊̆̊̌̌̀̀́̃̆̓̀͆̏͋̏͛̏̏͐̌͑͊̕̕̕͜͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅĘ̴̧̢̡̢̧̢̨̢̨̛̣͇͚̮̳̱̤̻̺̥͉͙̠̖̫̗̙͈͉̳͎̺̼̠͔̭̖̻̞̲̪͈̼̦̞͚͇̻̮̲̝͚̹͔͓̝̺̼̬̣̝̱̱̞͇̜̤͙̼̗̝̖͔̤̟̲͔̻̞͖͎̗̝̥͖̼̪͉̥̯̜̤̳̟͚͍̤̯̝̥̝͈̫͙͍͕̤̜͚͌̆̈́͑́̅̑̀͊̏͒̑̃̿̈́̄̐͊͑̉͘̚̚͜͜͝ͅͅ ̷̨̧̡̡̢̧̨̧̢̤̙͓̬̲̳̬̬̥͕̟̙̟̦̮͔̫͖̠͇̤̥̞̹̬̹̠̮͚͈͚̫̗̖̲̘̥̙̰͍͍̣͓̜̤̣̼̻̟̱̥̱̙͎̗͇̭̤̜̗̰͍̠͔̳̺͚̳̮̥̳͎̲͔͕̬̳̯͈̫̖̘̺̹͈̖̹̱͍͕̫͍̯̼͔̹̠̙̋̿̆̉̏̈́͂̊̑̅̄͆̂̎̌̀͗̈̇́̎̆̄̈̇̒́̈́̋̊̚̚͜͝͠͠͝͠͝͠ͅḐ̸̧̢̨̡̨̢̠̰̩̤̱͎͙̳̟̱̖͖̟͖͔̳̱̰̼̯̝͖̖̝̪͖̪̯̩͙̺̮͔͚̹̣̺̰̫̥͔͔̣͔͕͎̘̦̗̗͕͖̌͋́̋̓̈́̅͌̅̈̌̈̏͐̈͒̈̌̒̿͜͠ͅͅI̸̡̧̡̢̢̡̧̡̧̧̨̨̧̧̡̨̡̢̢̛̮͕̜̞̤̯̞͔̼͍̦̪͇̳̤͈̟̩̺̪̦̲̭̜͕͖̫͇͎̲̫̫̳̳̤̜̫̘̻̗̯̮͕̹̞̤͍̱̙̹̳̭̞̼̳̼̘̗̫̟̫̳̜̯͙̮̹͔̩̤̣̙͕̺͍̺̰͙̥͔͕̝͙̤͖̰̘̗̝̫̝͚̤͇͓̘̘̜̦̺̙̩͕̔̔̍͋̌̀̓͗̔͂̄́̂́̅̓̆͂̽̀̂͌͛́͗̄͛͐͑̑̈́͛̒̅́̉̿̆̒̏͛͐͆̂̆̌̈́̋̈́̏́̆̒̅́͂͒͋͆̐̌̋̃͛̓̊̽͐͊͒̿̒̆̎́̏̏͛͛̃͒̒̃͂̎̽͊̆̂̌͊͌̑̐̌̄̚̕͘̕̕̕̕͘͘̕̚͜͜͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͠͝͠͝ͅͅE̵̡̨̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̖̦͙̹̫͕̪̻̫͈̮͙̰̟͇̫͇͉̣̤̟̖̩̳͖͇̙̦̮̹͓̼̮̞̳̩̱̜̫͚̣̦̯͚̝̫̳̯͙̳̬̜̯̟͚̬̥̥̘̼̘͓̲̘̖͙͎̫͔͚̣̗̺͍̫̻̫̞̘͓̼̼͈̟̟̤̣͚͒̍̎͐̏̏͂̒̓̉͑̍̅̆͌̒̓̾͂̏̊̐̅͆̓͊̾̈͂͗͂̅͒̿͛̍̈́͛̔̓̏̎̆͛̎̃̀͗̋̿͒͊̅̌͛͂̽̅̆̑͋̏̈̋̒̑̋̐̀̒́̃̃̽̂̾̀̒̈͋̏̉̂̐͘̕̕̚̚͘͘͘͜͠͝͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅͅS̸̡̨̭̪͍͚̥̞̩͚̜̲̥̹͖̝͊̉̂̃̍̅͐̀͛̈͂̽̓̈́́̈́̒͛̏̎̀͒͆́̍̈̾̈̈́͛͐̈̈́͗̓̔̈́͋̏̓̏͗̈́͐̓̏̕̕͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅ ̸̧̢̡̨̡̧̡̨̧͙͍͎̥̭͔̠̻̱̼̠̘̰̫̙̺͍̳̮͉̬̞̯̭͕̲̤͓̳̘̰̭̤̩̘̻̜͕̖̗̤̞̱̣̖͚̲̗̦̣͍̗͈̟̤̯̮̩̙͕͇͇̜̪͈̤̟̤͈͇̻͈̥̰̪̫͚̮̼̫͇͓̺̮̱̔̊̔̽̂̇̋̀̌̃̂̔͌̏̿̏̆͐͒̾́͌͆͒͜͜͜͝ͅͅĪ̴̧̢̢̨̢̡̛̻̭͎͖͉̗̼̲̯̤̜̠̝̞̻͇͕̱̙̹̟̲̠̜̘̞̤̝̬̩̮̲͚̗̣̙͍̹͈̲̱͔͔̘̫̙̜̜̳̰̫̹͚͇̘͙̜͈̦̫̬̥̤̙̮͓͈̬̞̱̣̣̙̪̦͚̱̖̥̠̠̟͎̤̝̘̬̹̲̙͎͙̱̼̮̬͇͔̜͖̞̼̞̼̄̑͗̈́̔̿͊́̑̊͂̊̆̌̀̀̊́̾͒̊͛́̉̏̃͆̐͆͗̈̑̑̆́̄͗̏̐͗͂̀̔͑̊̆̎̆͋̑̈̐͐̋̑̎̋̆͑̔͆̂̐̔̂̌͊̀̚͘̕͘̕̚̕͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅF̸̨̡̢̨̡̡̧͍̝̯͈̟̲͙̖̪̟͇̣͔͕̝̳̹̭͖̞͉̣̝̭̠͔͇̹̱̞͙̗͔͚̮̺̭̞̦͎̳͓̩͍̥͕͓̞̙̞̭͈̮̩͍͍̪̯͖̭͚͍̙̱̰̼̙̘̪̪̜̻̙̮͙̪̯̗̰͖̘̗̞̫͖̙̳̫̍̌̾͛͋̀̏̔̾̉́̏̓͗͑̽̌̓̄̍̒̃̑̃̿̀̿͑̋̈́͛̒͂̐̿̓̆̚͘̚͜͜͜͝͝ ̸̡̢̧̢̢̧̡̧̧̛̛̛̠̝̳̖͍̳̻̯̠͔̺̩̙͕̞̪̗̝̟͕͕̺̭̞̱̺̦͓͉͍̜̱͍̜͓͈̱̞̳͔͙͖̼̪̞̦̙̦͙̥̰̙͍̠̲͖̖̖̦̜͓͍̬̗̱̥͙̜̩͌͂͆̽́́̎͛͛̃̎͗̈́̀͐̂̆̌̃̀̈͊̈́̈́̃̀̊̄̉͆͋͗̓́̊̌͋̄̾̆͊͋̎̿̌͊͗͛̊͐̏̾̀̃̀̒͆̒̔͂͛̍͋́͑̓̀͗͌̒̔̄͘̚̕͘̚̚͘̚͜͜͜͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅỸ̸̢̢̢̨̨̧̨̢̧̧̨̛̛̛̛̫̲̹̣̩͕͍̩̫̲̠̬̗̭͎̳͇͈͍̱̠̤̩̥͇͙͖̗̭̪̘̺̭͙̞͚͇͔̦͍̳̗̞̱͇̮̭̯̜̥͇͙̫͚̼͚̞̯̯̦̹͕̣̲̦͚͇͕̺̙̩̞͔͚͖͇͙̞̬̜̱͙̯͈̜̗̲̥̟̳͐̃̈́̈́̒̑̉̽̆̍̋̃̒͐̍͋̄̎̃̅̿̌̀͗̈̍͌̓́͆̐͌̆̌͋̍̀͂̏͌̿͒̌́͊̅̋́̊̾̄̂͂̔̃̉̐̈̍̿̒͆̓̅̔͘͘͘͘̚͜͜͠͝͝͝͝Ơ̵̡̢̨̧̧̨̧͓̬͓̖̝̥̗̻̯̙̣̠̺͉̼͉̤̟͔̥̭̦̟̫̻̼̬̬̦̠͔̠̝͕̤͈̟̻͉͔̭̯̟̤̯̬̲̫̣̗̳̰̻͓̤̳͙͓̬͍̠̝̦̜̹̠͍̹͕̭̝̘͗̓̈́̄́̒̊̀͋̽͒̏͋̾̓̐͊͛̈́̈̈́̓͛̇̒̿̍̔͘͜͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅƯ̷̡̧̨̢̨̢̧̡̡̢̢̢̧̢̛̛̛̺̩͓̦̞̭̜̝̖̣͎͙̤͎͉̙̦͎̰͚̙̺̝̯͍̣̗͚̬̲͕͔̻͉̥̳̼͎͕̹̰̲̫͎̙̠̦̘͔̼̞͍̻̥͕͓͓͇̲̣͕̘̳̦̖̭͎̜̞͂́̿͒͊̾̋͛̆͆̆̒̊́͗̽͐̀̋̊̈́͆̽̀̔̑͋̽̋̿͗̀̆̿͂͒͐̅̂̆͛̇̉̊̓͌̾̃͗́̆̎̂͊͑̈̀̿̂̎́̀̑̃̓͗͌̑̍͒͌̊̄̂̑͌̓͛̒͛̉͛̔̔͐̋̋̋̊͗̉̏̄̊̓̑͐̇̂̊͌͘̚̚͘̕͘̕͘̚͘͜͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅ ̴̧̨̛̮͓̟͎̌͋̓̆̒̿̓̿͐̃́̍͊̑͂͛̀̐̎̀̉͌͐̌̀̌̃̈͋͑̂̑͗̃̀̊̒͐̆͋̐̑͛̽̐̚̕̚͘͘͘͘͠͝͝͠͠Ţ̷̧̨̢̹͚̖̥̳̰̜͓̹̲̰̣͉̪̲͙̻̳̭̹͖͈̮̝͖̙̞̩̘̍̂̊͊̅̂͒͋͐͆͒͗̄͐̊̌̉͛̊͊̈̋̈̆̓͗̋̍̂̇̎͐́̎̈̂̀̐̽̅͆̓͊͛̓̌̑͑̄̈́̒͌̽̑̅̌̍̀͑̋̾̿͋̃͂̄͋̆̇̔͗̄̆͂̍̔̏͘̕͘͘̕͘͜͜͝͠͝ͅŖ̵̡̡̞͓͕̲̤͖̹̭̪̗̩̭̯͖̤̝͙̤̰͖͎̭͍̖̲̮͉̺̩̺͔͙̪͍̬̙̖̰̟̫͓̩͙̺̹̽̿̔̓̏̀̾͑̋̏̐̈́̾͑͒̀͑̅̀̔̊̐̂̓̾͆̃̾̇͘͘̕͝͝͠ͅͅͅỴ̸̢̢̡̨̛̛̛̛͖̣̱̬͍̮̙̹̘̞̮̹̝͎͓̦̬̗͍͙̹̪͕̯̩͉͛̈̈́̂̈́̀́͑̎̃̀͌̓͐̆͋̏̒̿́̔͐̇͒͂̔͑̎̈̑͛̇͂́̃̅̑̑̎͒͒͑͛̃̅̊̈́̆̃̃̔̀̏̋́̏̈̋̒͐͛̆͆̽̅̀̍̿̀̋͋̏͑̍̆̓̌̔͑̎̀́͆̊̇̾̇̑̀͗̏̋̌̅̅̑̓̋͑̽̓̿̾̍͂̈͘̚̕̚͘̕͜͝͝͝͠ͅ**

  
  


... this just here to protect the author note...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna give this chapter a "normal" ending and have it just basic and then I got to the part it ended with and decided, "meh good enough."
> 
> I hope this chapter was okay and not too iffy? Ack. I am making attempts. Piss poor attempts. But attempts. 2020, while shitty has been my first year in trying to write since I was like 14-15. Whether that is a good thing or contributing to the shiftiness of the year? I haven't decided yet. Stay tuned.
> 
> this year did get worse tho bc jenna marbles left youtube. ouch. 
> 
> I hope everyone is staying healthy and smart during these scary ass times!!! Ya'll are bootiful and deserve the mcfuckin world. :)
> 
> Richie and Eddie are tired of people not wearing their masks because they wanted to go to their beach house they share and pay for with all the other Losers but now decided they shouldn't because virus spike and are now sitting at home with Ophelia and playing the sims and Eddie got mad at Richie so he made him on the Sims and is now trying to drown him in the pool. :)


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this shitshow. I wrote almost all of it drunk off of mango white claws. So I genuinely cannot be held accountable for the subpar writing here. -finger guns- 
> 
> This story is less than 30k shorter than the longest Harry Potter book (OOTP) which was of course written by Starkid.
> 
> Ahhhh. So this chapter has been a STRUGGLE to write. I genuinely had 0 ideas how to transition from last chapter to here because I wasn't supposed to end it like that and I still needed to include the final bits of his recovery and now there is such a large time skip within this chapter and I'm really sorry if it feels awkward and weird? I just felt like we still needed to see Richie coming home and him transitioning into his own independence before entering his successful future as literal Bill fucking Hader with a sprinkle of Mulaney had the final switch in John been flipped. Idk.
> 
> It's definitely a less thrilling and shorter than the previous ones as the angst is decreasing here and it's pretty much more of a filler if anything? I'm sorry? I am the nervous but i GOTTA GET OVER IT.
> 
> TW: Brief mentions of the 9/11 attacks. Richie's experience is EXTREMELY minimal and it's only really touched upon in about two paragraphs and I only did that per the lovely DylanJ's suggestion. Thank you my kind noodle. His experience is actually the exact same as the one my aunt who lived in NYC at the time of the attacks experienced. She had been at work on the total opposite end of the city and had to stay in her location for hours and my grandma was understandably worried and they couldn't talk to her till hours after everything had happened. I was only 3 when it happened so I don't recall much of it honestly. I just know my dad got sent home from work and my siblings were sent home from school and my mom said I watched it happen on the TV with her and hugged her while she cried. It is not here to serve as entertainment or make light of it, but is kind of an excepted mention for someone living in US, especially NYC, during it.

Maggie knew great things were to come for her son.

**January 2000**

Maggie never did tell anyone what she saw on the computer that day. She couldn’t exactly  _ show  _ anyone either because once the distorted text started appearing on the screen—well, the screen had not exactly survived the swift kick off of the desk that she’d given it. Went had sprinted down the stairs, startled awake by the commotion taking place in the basement and stood absolutely befuddled at the broken computer and his sobbing wife who had no answer as to why she was in such a state and could only beg him to call the facility and make sure Richie was still okay since they’d left the facility just hours earlier. He’d of course complied with her pleads even if they seemed out of the blue and found that their son was absolutely fine and had just gone off to bed. She had to fabricate a lie about a nightmare (which wasn’t too far off since she’d been forced to see her worst nightmare) and a spider on the screen that warranted the destruction to the monitor they would have to replace the following pay period. 

She desperately wanted to find more answers regarding Derry and everything that was so completely twisted about that town. She knew it existed but all sources suggested that it wasn’t real and part of her wanted reassurance from a stranger that they’d somehow heard of the town and knew of its existence but even that was out of the question and not simply because they too might be under this trance of sorts that prevents any sort of remembrance for a place they might have known previously in their existence. No. Derry was one of those miniscule towns that rarely made it onto state maps.

It was one of those towns that even when she herself lived there, never admitted to being from when questioned about it by those who were not from the region as it just made conversations longer than she wanted or more complicated than necessary. She and Went both just said they were from Bangor or a town close to Bangor— not unlike what people “close” to major cities like Philadelphia did when they said they were “outside of Philly” even if they were a solid forty minutes away from the outskirts of the area. The vantage point of Bangor and the description of being “just outside” that easily recognized area was a much easier description than explaining the odd town she’d once thought to be a safe place to raise her son. 

However, her desire to know precisely what was wrong with Derry abated quite rapidly after the incident with the computer. There was still something in the back of her mind that urged her to continue her investigation for she  _ knew  _ she was on the right path to discovering something major but after seeing Richie’s very dead face appear all across their screen and reading the eerie threat against his life, she knew it was no longer a search she could continue. Since that day, she’d done barely anything to continue her search for answers and has insisted that Went do the same after he suggested they start conducting some research at the local library or with the self-proclaimed psychic he’d filled six cavities for several months prior. It felt extremely unsafe to pursue further answers as it seemed like her digging somehow put her son’s life on the line and maybe the instance with the computer had been a freak thing (she knew it wasn’t), but Richie’s life was not something Maggie was willing to gamble with. 

Curiosity did not kill the cat— it tried to kill her fucking son. 

She did know, and she would not disclose such information to anyone, not even her beloved husband, was that the clown featured on the back of Richie’s obituary had to be connected to everything that had gone wrong since their move from Derry. Hell, Maggie is convinced that white-faced bastard with a shitty ass hairline could be to blame for everything else that was royally fucked in that town. It was something she knew with every fibre of her being, especially when she was filled with pure, unadulterated fear upon looking at the image of that clown. That stupid clown had everything to do with what had gone wrong with Richie since leaving Maine and it was definitely to blame for the overdose he’d suffered from. But interfering only elicited a threat from this outside being and further digging would merely anger it and she could not risk that as it was obvious that her making any more connections would surely put Richie’s life on the line and the results could (and certainly would) be disastrous. 

She put up blinders to any other signs that begged her to continue her attempts at getting to the bottom of what had caused all of this seemingly supernatural stuff to occur. Maggie insisted their focus be placed on Richie’s continued recovery and how that could continue with whatever had hurt him and could potentially continue to hurt him. She was genuinely afraid that somehow her previous meddling would thwart his ability to come home and would disturb the progress he’d made and he would somehow face the consequences of her inquisitive mind. 

Luckily, his recovery continued to spiral upward and each phone call and visitation was met with more visible progress than the previous. Obviously one could not determine whether or not such improvements were directly impacted by her decision to halt her research, but Maggie was fairly confident that had she not listened to her gut and  _ continued _ to snoop around, things would not have gotten better for her son as fast as they had—which allowed him to stay on schedule for his program and permitted his return in November.

Richie’s return was easily one of the top five “Best Moments” in Maggie’s life. Also on that mental list was her wedding day, the birth of her son, and of course the day Richie came out to them (even if he no longer remembered such this particular moment). Went had been the one to retrieve their son from the facility that morning while Maggie got the house ready for his return by cleaning it just the right amount (nothing too serious for Richie always got irritated when the house smelled too strongly of bleach or antiseptic as it reminded him of a woman Maggie easily remembered but Richie could no longer recall) and prepared him a hearty helping of his favorite spaghetti. There was a memory there too, but she’d learned years ago to stop trying to push them forward.

When he had first walked in, Maggie nearly lost it as she wrapped her arms around him. He had looked better than he had in his  _ entire  _ life. He was healthily filled out, smiling something that was not quite the same as it had been back before the move but more lively than it’d been in  _ years,  _ and he just looked completely alive with no trace signs of the addiction that had nearly ended his young life. There was a trace of exhaustion under his eyes in the form of grey smudges but that was easily attributed to the early mornings he’d been subject to whilst in the institution. Maggie knew he would hold onto all of the tactics and life skills he’d developed while in treatment, but she knew for a fact he would not keep up with the extremely early morning wakings they’d forced upon the residences. 

She had held his face in her hands, tears breaking her dams, slipping down her cheeks as she gushed about how she was so happy to her see her boy and how she was so proud of him and just a plethora of sniffled words of the genuine pride she felt for her son as she looked at him right there and then. Richie, always incompetent of ackowldgeing praise in a mature manner, simply stuck his tongue out at her and told her to “stay tuned for my next fuck up, Magma.” That justified a whack to his head, tousling his neatly cut hair (something that had surely been done there and not of his own accord). She had not been certain if everything would continue to be okay even as she’d held him there but as long as her son was home and would be in their home to annoy her a little longer, she was perfectly content. 

Since his return home, Richie continued to do incredibly well in all facets of his life. He was able to start the internship he’d been scheduled to start back in August. They, as Maggie told Richie, were willing to hold his position while he was in treatment and had been wildly understanding of the situation. Richie, despite knowing he was fine to start the internship whenever he was ready to go in, had been terribly anxious. The fear had been so intense that he nearly wanted to skimp out entirely and never show up for the first day but obviously he did not indulge such feelings and went in and upon arrival, they instantly recognized him and helped to get him started in his training. Since starting the job, Richie was already making a name for himself in the local entertainment industry. 

Seeing as he had to cancel his lease for the apartment that would have been near his job location, he was forced to continue living at home. Maggie saw no problem with it (and guiltily enjoyed it) and was more than happy to provide for him for as long as he needed or was comfortable living under their roof. He had expressed some embarrassment about having to live at home whilst approaching his mid twenties but Maggie, Went, and even his therapist had reassured him constantly that this was a normal part of young adulthood and that he should feel absolutely no shame in having to rely on his parents a little longer than his younger self may have anticipated.

Richie had been through a lot and having to alter his previous perception of what “adulthood” was supposed to look like was to be expected. There was nothing wrong about that. It may not be what he wanted to have to do, but it was what he  _ had  _ to do for the time being and it was clearly something Richie was steadily coming to terms with as he continued to fully immerse himself in weekly therapy sessions where he would talk about his progress, doubts, and just general objective conversation he might not feel comfortable having with Maggie or Went— not that Richie didn’t disclose most things with his parents. He did. Probably more than the average son in their twenties typically did. But there were just some things that he needed to hear an opinion or advice that did not come from someone he insisted was “obligated to love him.”

Maggie thought that was bullshit because there was nothing that forced her to love her reckless, troublemaking, shithead of a son. Nothing. She just did. He was the world to her and had been since she’d thrown up lemon cake in some poor baker’s bathroom. But, she knew where he was coming from and was not one to criticize his thinking that was occasionally warped by his own self doubt and insecurity. He still built up walls for some subjects and would attempt to mask his feelings with jokes and crude humor, something he’d done since he was fresh out of diapers; but there seemed to be less of an urge to hold these barriers up in front of his parents and that was truly one of the most remarkable developments to come from his recovery.

He was becoming someone that more closely resembled the Richie Maggie remembered from Derry. It wasn’t all there. He had relied on some forgotten friends to build him up and formulate some of the brighter parts of his personality, but what was formulating before her and Went was enough to satisfy them. He truly loved his internship position and had been promoted to an official position just before Christmas which warranted a celebration of sparkling cider (nothing alcoholic of course). He was continuing to pick up stand up gigs where he literally had the crowd like putty in his hands as he easily cracked jokes, created new voices, and mastered impressions at a level that Went could actually no longer compete with. 

Richie had truly transformed since the relapse and maybe Maggie still (shamefully) held doubts for how long this recovery was going to last and maybe she was terrified that the sinister looking clown on the back of the obituary could somehow destroy everything he’d rebuilt up for himself, but as of then, Richie was in an wonderful place and nothing could take that away from him. She knew he was finding himself, and maybe it wasn’t the self she initially hoped he’d be, but this was good for now. Maggie knew, as she watched his eyes twinkle with excitement when he wrote a new set for a gig or submitted something for his boss’s approval, that Richie was going to do something amazing. 

xXx

**September 2005**

Maggie and Went have been empty nesters since the end of 2000. Richie, although no longer reliant on drugs to make pisspoor choices, still had the tendency to be impulsive in his decision making. Of course, he had the trashcan tattoo on his side and that was a  _ single _ testament of his heedless tendencies. But since his recovery, he had other instances to support this trait that seemed fundamental to his rather eccentric personality. 

He had gotten his ears pierced after receiving a hearty tip after an extremely successful gig in downtown L.A. Those were taken out not long after as he discovered he was very much allergic to the metal in the earrings they’d pierced him with when the lobes of his ears turned an angry red and started leaking a yellow liquid that would have certainly elicited a strong reaction from Eddie Kaspbrak. After rewatching  _ The Lion King,  _ he had taken Eduardo to a groomer to get his fur cut to look like a lion— the cat had  _ not  _ been happy about that hairstyle in the slightest and the claw marks in both the groomer and Richie’s arms were very indicative of that. He had frosted the tips of his hair and once he realized that curly-haired men looked like they were literally growing ramen noodles from their scalp, he’d attempted to dye it back and ended up with a weird auburn-brown situation that did not flatter his alabaster complexion in the slightest. Maggie ended up taking him to her hairstylist to get it corrected to his natural color and of course teased him relentlessly when the stylist discovered Richie’s very first grey hair. 

The most impulsive decision, however, was signing a lease for an apartment in New York City with a friend he’d met from work who was moving there to enhance their own career in becoming a playwright. Richie’s heart, however, had been set on continuing entertainment in the form of acting or comedy and seeing as he wasn’t keen on some of the L.A. work in film, he decided the fast paced and energetic vibe New York was proudly known for, was the place for him when he signed that lease without discussing the matter with her or Went. Not that he had to anymore. He had been a full fledged adult and had been saving money for himself. However, it would be dishonest of Maggie to pretend that she would not have liked to discuss the matter in detail before he scratched his sloppy signature across the two-year lease that would be repeatedly renewed for years to come. 

They’d been shocked when he announced that he would be moving before the end of the year, but were entirely supportive. They helped him pack his things into the back of a UHaul attached to the back of his truck (which they made him practice driving with in a Walmart parking lot at two in the morning) and despite his insistence that he had more than enough money to get him by, they gave him a little extra help in the form of some Benjamins. 

His leaving had been a tearful affair for the three of them. Hell, even Eduardo, who was starting to grey just slightly around his eyes and ears, seemed depressed that he was leaving his “grandparents” as Richie liked to call them which sometimes annoyed Maggie but cat grandparent was probably as close to the actual grandma thing as she was going to get for the foreseeable future. They promised to come visit once he was more settled into his new shoebox-sized apartment that would easily eat up most of his initial earnings from whatever job he was going to get but it was worth it to him and if it was something he had his vibrant eyes set on, Maggie would encourage him along. 

She could not help, however, being reminded of his old “Spaghetti” when he announced that he was going to the same city where his ex (if she could rightly call him that since they never technically broke anything off) had attended college. She desperately wanted to know how Eddie was doing and how college had treated him. She’d attempted to stalk college racing results to see how his athletic career had gone but she could find nothing. She truly hoped this was the result of this clown-related fuckery and not because Sonia Kaspbrak had pulled her son out of the sport that had granted him the full-ride to such a prestigious university in the first place. She just hoped he had not endured the same struggles and trials her son had. She longed for Richie to realize his literal soulmate had been there and perhaps stumble upon him should he have remained in the city and realize what major piece of him had been missing all these years. But she couldn’t as such reminders of the past would simply disturb the happiness Richie had crafted for himself.

He seemed to enjoy the city right off the bat— sans the chilly air he was no longer accustomed to having lived in L.A. for five years (and not remembering the brutal winters Derry had thrust upon him) and a roach infestation he and his roommate moved right into. It required a visit from an exterminator and a week-long stay at a hotel well out of their collective price range but they’d not had any issues with the pesky bugs ever since. Maggie could sense a tone of dismay in his voice after their entire removal. She would not be surprised if Richie had wanted to keep one as a pet next to the aging Eduardo. 

He quickly found himself continuing his usual stand-up, joining an improv troupe, and managing to work full-time in scene production for some Broadway plays. He seemed to genuinely thrive with the fast paced excitement and thrill of the city and it provided the stimuli he needed to feel busy and not fall back into any unhealthy habits. He was still working on therapy whilst in the city, although the sessions had declined down to once every other week which was certainly okay given that he had made significant progress in his recovery. New York truly seemed like a good place for her son.

The only time Maggie sincerely wished Richie had not made the move was of course in September of 2001. It had been a horrific day for everyone truly. Even if her son had not been there, it was just something so devastating to watch from the gritty screen of the dated television that sat upon a rickety table in Went’s office. She knew Richie had no business being near the point of attack, but she could not help except wonder if maybe he had decided to take a different route to work or just something appeared out of nowhere to cause him to be in that particular area of the city and something had happened to him. It had been impossible to get a hold of anyone that lived there for several hours and she just sat there in the dental office, along with Went and all the clients that had been scheduled for appointments, glued to the TV screen as panicked newscasters attempted to make sense of the situation while fat tears rolled down her face and she shook violently in her husband’s arms. 

They ended up closing early that day for no one had any idea what was going on in the world at that point and Maggie and Went broke a variety of traffic laws whilst heading home and waited impatiently for their son to return their calls, very much fearing the worst. Luckily, he  _ did  _ end up calling several hours after the towers had fallen and reassured her he had not been anywhere near the scene and was simply at work and forced to remain in his location until police could safely escort everyone home. 

“I think you need to move back home.” She immediately sobbed after he explained the situation. “Just for now. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be there.”

Richie sighed. “They’re not going to let people travel outside of the city for a while, mom and I really don’t wanna make that drive.”

“Richie, I thought I lost you today.” She had cried into the phone.

“I know, mom. But…” He’d sighed “You didn’t. There are a lot of moments when you probably thought you’d lost me but you didn’t then and this is another one of those times.”

She swallowed thickly. “I know you can’t just give up everything you have there but… is it safe for you to be there right now?”

“I mean there is a ton of security  _ everywhere  _ and my boss is giving everyone the next week off and I’ve already cancelled all my gigs and all that shit.” He sighs. “I’ll be okay, mom. I promise to keep you updated with anything they tell us or any news that drops.” 

He’d kept up with that promise and fell into the habit of reading her the  _ New York Times  _ reports during each of their daily phone calls. She knew she could easily purchase the same paper all the way in California, but there was something warming about hearing her son’s voice read off the biggest stories into the phone. Even though him reading to her was supposed to only be for news pertaining to the attacks, he began reading off other notable bits in other papers, even local ones, as well— even small stories about new businesses and petty crimes. Richie reading the paper to her just became part of their nightly phone call routine. His voice, while slightly nasally and lispy from his teeth that had shifted back ever so slightly into their naturally bucked form from his disregard for his retainer, was soothing to her ears as she truly missed having him under her roof.

It was difficult being empty nesters. Even now, nearly five years without him, she found herself longing to see his rumpled appearance in her living room and to receive a quick hug instead of a phone call before bed. Their house felt too big and too quiet without the large presence of their not-so-little-anymore Dickard. The absence of their son also served to make the two of them feel older than the early fifties they had just stumbled into. It wasn’t that big of a deal to them for they were each objectively healthy individuals but there was just something about not having a child, even an adult child, in the house to call some responsibility for, that served to make them more aware of their increasing age. He had come home a few times since moving and they of course had visited him a few times in the city. But it was different than knowing he would eventually come home again to be with them and it was just an odd milestone to get past and one that she had known was to happen but had not anticipated the hurt that would accompany it. 

She herself enjoyed the city in the times she’d gotten to visit, and although she was still mortified by the nightmares that continued to plague her, she’d attempted to find out any information regarding Edward Kaspbrak and found herself sadly empty-handed. She’d pulled something riskier back in ‘03 and rather than flying out of JFK as initially planned, she and Went rented a car and drove all the way to Bangor. She claimed she merely wanted to revisit their old home (without telling Richie of course for that would just serve to drive him up a wall and simply told him they wanted to have a scenic route before sitting in a stuffy plane) but Went knew better. He had the same desire to return to Derry and find the one person who had insisted there was something wrong with that town: Michael Hanlon.

The drive was long but they were certain it would be worth it if they were to find their answers. Went was sure to call Richie at each rest stop that they hastily stopped at to ensure that their meddling had not somehow warped his mental or physical state and they were met with absolutely nothing but an obvious confusion and mild annoyance in their son’s attitude regarding their multiple phone calls so close together in a single day. They could never be too safe. Once they got through Bangor, they no longer needed the map. They remembered going this way for all the times they’d visited her late mother and for day trips to towns more interesting than Derry (not that that was a hard thing to find) in the summer months with Richie and Eddie. 

But something changed. Went took the exit that  _ should  _ have taken them straight into Derry. But, somehow they were in Old Town, Maine. 

“What?” Maggie had exclaimed as she read the  **Welcome to Old Town** sign when she’d anticipated the  **Derry Welcomes You** sign **.** “You had to have made a wrong turn?”

“No.” Went insisted. “We  _ always  _ got off there.” They did.

“Maybe they reconstructed some of the roads?” Maggie suggested. “Hang on. Pull up to a gas station.” He had stopped. She’d gotten out and ran herself in. 

“Hi.” She greeted quickly. “What way do we go to get to Derry?”

“Excuse me?” The lady had sniffed, brow cocking upward. Maggie did not miss the stuffy attitude so many Northeasteners seemed to possess. 

“Derry?”

“Wrong country.” She snorted.

“You don’t know of Derry, Maine?” Maggie had felt her heart drop as she stared at the bewildered woman. 

“Are you a damn drunk?” The sour-faced woman had hissed at her.

“No.” Maggie said slowly. “I… nevermind.” She then walked out and nearly passed out when she saw a single red balloon blocking her entrance out of the shop. Images of Richie decaying on the obituary, of Richie convulsing on his bedroom floor, of words warning her of what would happen should she continue her search flickered violently through her mind. 

“I’ll stop. Please.” She had pleaded softly enough as to not give the woman more reason to be disturbed by her presence. “Don’t hurt him.” Slowly, the balloon edged away from the door and she’d been able to exit and watch as her husband placed the payphone back on the base and raked trembling hands through his greying locks. 

“You saw something.” She’d stated. The lack of color in his face had been extremely telling.

“Yeah. I-I… I saw Richie. He was… he was…he looked like that  _ picture  _ in that fucking thing you showed me. He was just standing across the street watching me and then he was gone and I had to call him again.”

“He’s okay?” 

“Yeah. Just… pissed at me for calling again.” Went laughed weakly. 

“We have to stop.” Maggie said. “Now. We can’t do this anymore. We just need to get on the plane in Bangor and never talk about…  _ that place  _ again.”

Went had nodded in agreement. “Okay. We… we can do that.”

So they did. Derry was merely a thought that trickled into her mind and haunted her dreams at night. It made her call her son after particularly awful nightmares and miss the faces that were starting to blur in the back of her mind— not because she was forgetting like her son had. No. She knows she wasn’t touched by whatever  _ thing  _ inhabited that town the way her son and his friends clearly had to be if they were under this… spell of sorts. She was simply forgetting the features and the voices of the kids that used to bring more life into her home and whom she saw as her own children. It was hard. She was pretty sure Stan’s eyes were blue. But Went was positive that they were green. Bill had auburn colored hair but she couldn’t recall if it was more brown or more red. There were other things too and it was all enough to create a hollowness inside her chest but it was something she did not allow herself to ponder too much for fear that it would somehow force her to indulge the curious feelings that remained. 

Derry was a word no longer spoken in the Tozier household and simply a nightmare that plagued her and Went’s dreams. They’d been forced to move on from that chapter of their life and were starting to accept that there was probably nothing they themselves could do to figure out what exactly had caused such mysterious things to happen to them and their son and his friends. It was okay though. Good things continued to grace her and her family. She had a lot to be happy for even if each day was spent missing her son more than she liked to admit. But he was alive and he was well and she would no longer do anything to potentially jeopardize that.

“So uh… something happened today.” Richie tells them over speaker phone while she moves her fingers through her husband’s hair. 

“Things tend to happen every single day, Dick.” Went snickers. 

Richie huffs a laugh. “Okay, yeah but something  _ more _ exciting than what happens in the life of an old dentist happened today.”

“Oh, Richie gets off on a good one!” Went chortles. Maggie flicks him in the nose.

“What happened, baby?”

“Well, my troupe had a show this evening and when we were done, someone that was apparently from  _ Saturday Night Live _ told me I should come for their auditions next Saturday and I said I would…”

“Richie, that’s incredible!” Maggie squeals.

“Way to go, Dick Toaster!” Went cheers, guiding Maggie’s hand to a section of his head that craves the gentle touch of her nails. 

“I mean, I don’t know if... I'll get it.” He stammers, “But I thought that was pretty cool.” There it was. The usual insecurities that never seemed to abandon her son.

“Honey, even if for some piss ass reason they don’t recognize your talent and you don’t get it, this could still open a lot of doors for you.” Maggie reassures him.

“Will you buy me a boat when you’re rich and famous?” Went questions.

xXx

Richie spends the next week doing as he always does when such things come about: Panicking incessantly over it. Maggie has had to on several occasions, talk him down from extreme anxiety attacks that have left him doubled over the toilet or crying into Eduardo’s, who was now officially a senior cat’s fur. He was so insistent that he was going to bomb his audition and make a fool of himself and somehow have his name blacklisted for all future entertainment careers. No amount of reassurance qualmed these thoughts but Maggie was certain to be a voice of reason for her son in hopes that something would get through that dense skull of his and ease the budding nerves even just slightly. 

When the day came around, Richie had a full blown panic attack in his apartment just before he was set to leave. It took Maggie, Went, and his roommate to talk him into grounding himself and to just go to the audition with the knowledge that he was fully capable of making the show or doing something just as good as the show (even though Richie was currently convinced there was absolutely nothing else he could do outside of SNL).

Eventually, a fraction of their words seemed to get through the surface and he got into a place where he was no longer at risk of yakking in front of the cast that would be analyzing his performance. He bid them a farewell and was off to the studio. Maggie knew it would be hours before he was back and would know whether or not he made it. But some of Richie’s anxiety seemed to seep through the phone lines and had settled below her skin and left her anxiously awaiting the call for news— news she hoped to be good. She knew he was qualified but it was hard to say what they  _ wanted  _ at this point in time 

After hours of her and Went silently panicking over what the results of his audition would be, the phone finally gave a shrill ring. After checking the Caller ID to see that it was indeed Richie and not the telemarketer she’d wrongly bombarded with a variety of SNL-related questions earlier that evening, Maggie quickly hit the speaker button and put it on the table for the two of them to hear. 

“Hi sweetheart!” She greets excitedly, wriggling nervously next to Wentworth.

“Hey Rich.”

“Hi.” His voice is somber and croaky. He sounds like he’s been crying and her heart immediately drops. She looks to Went who shares the same defeated expression she’s surely wearing right now. “I went.”

“Oh honey,” she starts. “I’m sure you did better than you think.”

“I don’t know.” He hiccups. “I just… I can’t believe that I-I…  _ fucking made it! _ ” He ends with a booming laugh. 

“You little shit!” Went shouts around a chuckle he cannot contain.

“Oh my God, Richie!” Maggie beams, hand falling to her chest as the panic quickly leaves her body. “Congratulations! We are so proud of you… even if you are a fucking asshole.”

Richie cackles hysterically over the line. “They were actually laughing during my audition and they’re  _ not  _ supposed to!” He informed them, clearly tickled. 

“You sure they weren’t laughing at that ugly mug?” Went inquires.

“I mean everyone says I look more like  _ you. _ ” Richie teases.

“Shut up.” Maggie scolds. “They were laughing because our  _ handsome  _ jackass son did a great job.”

“Mom, that was somehow worse than what dad said.” Richie snorts. 

“Oh shut the hell up and let me be happy for you.” Maggie laughs. “When are you going to start?”

“Um, well one of their writers has to incorporate new cast into their upcoming sketches so I’ll probably be in a new episode by next month, I think? I dunno.” He laughs to himself. 

“You better tell when your first episode is gonna air!”

“I’ll even say bye to you during the closing credits, mom.”

xXx

**June 2006**

As promised, Richie does tell her when he’s going to be on the show and she nearly cries upon seeing his face on her television screen and does  _ actually  _ cry when Richie really does mouth the words  _ “bye mom”  _ with a small wave during the end credits of his first episode. He continues to do this at the end of each episode and it is always enough to elicit a flood of emotions in her every Saturday night. He calls her each night after the episode has aired and is always met with praise and a few teasing comments whenever he happens to break during a sketch which is more often than Richie likes to admit. Then of course she questions him regarding some of his more…  _ interesting  _ pieces like whatever the fuck kinda shit  _ Laser Cats  _ was. It was definitely hysterical in her opinion but it did briefly concern her that he’d somehow fallen off the wagon when she watched it through the first time.

“No, mom.” Richie had reassured her between snorts of laughter. “Andy and I just thought it was funny.”

Despite the teasing, she and Went always let him know how well he does with each appearance or in any skit he has a hand in because he really _is_ doing a good job. He isn’t always certain of it himself, but Richie is wildly funny and gifted when it comes to the world of entertainment. Regardless of his obvious skillset, they can visibly see the anxiety in his eyes during each skit he’s in even if he appears to get through it seamlessly. He admits to her one evening that he’s often prone to working himself into several panic attacks backstage and has more than once thrown up right before going on and right after getting off because his nerves are almost chronically shot being on the show. She hates hearing this from him and almost wants to suggest that _this,_ a live show, may not be for him if it’s inciting such intensive reactions. But, she also hears in his voice, how passionate and excited he is to be on the show. 

Luckily, at the ever so thrilling age of thirty he begins taking a step further into his career in the world of comedy and entertainment that may potentially catapult him away from the chronic anxiety that goes hand in hand with performing in front of a live studio audience week after week. 

“Hey!” He calls her one afternoon when she’s off work. 

“Hi honey,” she greets, a little surprised that he’s calling her this early in the day even though he knows it’s her day off. Surely there can’t be anything that interesting in the paper for him to read aloud to her. Plus that’s their  _ night  _ routine. “How are you doing?”

“Um,  _ really  _ good… I think?” His voice squeaks just slightly. 

“What happened?”

“Well, last week… I didn’t tell you guys ‘cause I didn’t think I’d get it so I just kept it really DL and well... I had an audition for a movie.” 

She feels a flutter of excitement in her stomach. “Oh?”

“Yeah it’s for this comedy about like teenagers and shit and—”

“Richie, honey, you’re  _ thirty. _ ” She hates to discourage him but he’s beyond the point of being eligible to portray a teenager. 

He snorts at that. “No! I was auditioning for one of the two cops in the movie!” 

“Oh God bless. I thought you were  _ already  _ having your midlife crisis.” She shakes her head. “Okay so how’d it go?”

“I just found out I got it!” She knows he’s probably vibrating with excitement at a frequency level that competes against Eduardo’s buzzing purr whenever someone scratches their nails between his ears. 

“Oh my God, Richie! That’s amazing.” Her cheeks physically hurt with the grin that plasters itself upon her face.

“Yeah! I start shooting next month. I have to miss a week or so of SNL but I get to be in a  _ movie!”  _ He exclaims. “Don’t tell dad! I wanna tell him when he gets off. Alright?”

Maggie grins to herself. “Of course, Richie.”

“Alright, I gotta go. I have a writer’s meeting in an hour but I really wanted to tell you that! Love you!”

“Love you too.” She says just before he hangs up. She slumps back into the couch, her heart absolutely  _ soaring  _ for her son as she fully absorbs the news her son has just given her. This is the opportunity her son needed to get under his belt, especially with the anxiety that continued to grow under the stress that accompanied a live broadcast career that while he loved, was certainly not doing him any favors in regards to his mental health. 

It might be a while for him to expand his horizons far enough for him to get out of such a career and plus Maggie knew he would not be willing to leave the show anytime soon and she definitely didn’t want him to. But, a movie was a good way of getting his name out there and igniting a career that went beyond skit acting for a weekly program. This was his way of beginning his own personal growth in the entertainment field and maybe with this potential rise in his career, he could continue to live a happy life and completely forget the past that still haunts him to a degree. Maggie knows that this is just the beginning for Richie.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was okay!!! If not!!! I am big sorry!!!! I genuinely had a lot of issues writing this (even without the influence of Mango claws) and I know a lot doesn't happen but idk why filler chapters are a pain to write? I did try!!!
> 
> I hope to bust out at least one more chapter before July 18th because I am taking a break for 2 weeks to see my friend that has also been actually abiding by guidelines so we not being jackasses!!! Then I will be self-quarantining because airports do be breedings grounds my dudes and my mom is believes i have covid every single time I mention feeling less than 10000% so oof. 
> 
> I'm pretty sure I am on the home stretch of this story as in I am DEFINITELY more than halfway and probably have less than or just about 10 chapters to go???? It's gonna be really weird to finish this fic bc I've never finished anything I've ever written even when I was objectively a decent writer in my teens and had infinitely better mental health? like hello? idk it's a weird feel. I hope I write something else that I finish after this??? 
> 
> Richie waving bye at the credits and saying "bye mom" is inspired by Bill Hader waving goodbye in each of his episodes to someone specific. He always mouthed the same person (who? idk) but Richie is a fucking mama's boy. :) He would also be appearing in the same month that Hader did too which was October '05! 
> 
> I'm also probably not able to return to my university for fall 2020 which might warrant me trying to write ~*things~* because I'm too broke to do anything except online campus and because football players do be getting COVID (and I hope they all get better!!!) and that is concerning which makes me sad as heck so like if your life is continuing to be thrown out of a whack because of the pandemic and you're genuinely infuriated by people dismissing it and pretending life is normal again, yOU'RE NOT ALONE. Things gonna suck for a while and I hope ya find some semblance of sanity. 
> 
> Richie and Eddie do be thriving in their own continued quarantine bc sure things are opening but that wave do be hitting and they rarely leave the house but when they do, MASKS ON BABY. <3


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henlo! This is going to be the last chapter for the next 2+ weeks bc am going on trip! I haven't been with any friends all of quarantine except on my birthday with one (1) friend but this many months without socialization for my dumbass? Tragic. I am so hype to see her and be out of my state for 2 weeks! This friend is a big It/Reddie Stan and we're going to play a It-themed drinking game I made up. Aye.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this chapter is okay? It's really short in comparison to what I usually try to do. It was really hard to start for some reason and to get going so am sorry if it's just weird. I'm as per usual, nervous to post it because idk. Fear? We got it. Pennywise would just take the form of my GoogleDocs of writing shit and I would let that fucker eat me right there and then and not in the weirdly sexual way everyone wanted in 2017.
> 
> This chapter makes mentions toward Eddie and Richie's childhood so if things seem odd or unfamiliar it's probs because it was part of Part I and II. if ya wanna refresh and relive the days of fluff, those are the parts to look at. 
> 
> TW: For minor relapse in regards to alcohol use; all relapses are a big deal but this one in comparison to what Richie has done is minimal not that it's something anyone should belittle!

Maggie knew that somewhere in the back of his mind, Richie still remembered Eddie Kaspbrak.

**October 2007**

Eddie Kaspbrak, despite Maggie’s best effort at forgetting details of the town hellbent on compromising the wellbeing of her son, was someone Maggie could still remember in vivid detail. Obviously he had to have changed in the last thirteen years with simply aging; but where she may have forgotten the exact shade of the hair or the color of the other Losers’ eyes, she still could easily visualize Eddie’s chestnut brown hair that curled when it got humid and the soft brown of his eyes that were spattered with gold flecks. He was probably a tad bit taller in his thirties than he’d been back in his teens—surely not by much as Sonia nor Frank were the tallest of folks. He probably wore his hair differently and no longer wore track shorts and meticulously cleaned running shoes ( _ Asics,  _ always  _ Asics _ ) everywhere he went. She assumed, or rather  _ hoped,  _ he pursued the desire he’d expressed to Went of becoming a doctor and was finishing his residency and sporting the classic white coat as he treated patients with an expertise he’d had even before getting through medical school—hell, before leaving  _ high school _ . 

She would love to know if he is still the same mildly neurotic, highly energetic boy that “spoke in cursive” (as Went liked to call it) that she always enjoyed having around. She wonders if he still has the same anxieties he’d been burdened with throughout his youth or perhaps with leaving Derry and going off to college, he was able to rid himself of the fears and lies fed to him by his disgrace of a mother. Or, like Richie, did he lose a part of himself when he left Derry? Did he immediately forget her son and the people that encouraged his bravery and development as a person once he got past state lines and was surely subject to the same distance-induced amnesia that seemed to plague the rest of the Losers? It was hard to say but something in Maggie, something dark, told her that he probably fell back into habits he’s been working on breaking while they were still there. She hoped however, that Eddie was somehow getting along better than Richie had in the past decade. 

Obviously Richie had changed significantly since leaving Derry so it should be easy to assume that Eddie had too—but she couldn’t necessarily confirm anything. She desperately hoped that the two would stumble upon each other if by some trick of fate, Eddie had remained in the city after graduating from NYU. But even then, they would probably have to start fresh and who’s to say they would get together. Hell, it’s impossible to say if they would have  _ stayed  _ together if none of this cursed town bullshit happened to them in the first place. 

She’d brought up such feelings to Went one night when the two of them were sitting in their living room, far too silent without the presence of their loudmouth son. They’d been barely paying attention to an episode of  _ House Hunters  _ when she asked, “Do you think Richie and Eddie would have stayed together had all of…  _ this  _ not happened?” She waves her hand around as if the motion somehow conjured up images of the hell they’d all been subject to for the last several years. 

He didn’t even hesitate. “Well yeah.” He snorted as if it was as obvious as two and two being four. “They’re like us.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Soulmates.” He told her before he’d graced her with a gentle kiss. It was a sweet sentiment and it was something she could definitely see. The bond between Richie and Eddie was one unlike anything else she’d seen in her lifetime—with the exception of what she’d been lucky to find in her husband. They saw nothing but the beautiful in each other even when individually, they each saw a disproportionate amount of ugly in themselves. 

Eddie was like a son to her but not in such a way where Richie and Eddie’s relationship would have been incestual by any means. Went always liked to crack a joke about something with inbred and  _ Wonderbread  _ anytime she would imply that she loved Eddie as if she were his own. She loved him like her own and wanted nothing more than to pry away a son Sonia didn’t deserve; remove him from that woman and keep him away and protect him from her in a manner that was not threatening or overbearing. He did not deserve a life marred by chronic fear that was wrongly induced upon him by an extremely mentally unwell mother. 

She had made attempts in protecting him. They were probably never enough but she did as much as she could as an outsider. She remembers looking into his doe eyes, securing a promise where he could do what he wanted and eat the sugary snacks he liked whilst at the Tozier residence. He had been so small, so fearful that somehow his mom might find out and reign her terror upon him. Maggie and Went would never allow that to happen and worked beyond that moment to craft the childhood Sonia would deprive him of in the form of gifts, experiences, and a push toward a carefree nature all kids should be able to have. 

Maggie can vividly remember the night he came over, hoping to see Richie as anxiety regarding his mother’s maltreatment and insistence that he was horribly sick weighed upon him after being faced with the discovery that all of his medications were actually placebos and nothing was truly wrong with him in the first place. He had been terrified, his hard work in repressing the anxious health-related thoughts nearly thwarted by his mother’s manipulation. But she wouldn’t let that happen. She would have never let Eddie be discouraged; she would always make sure he was aware of how brave he was and Maggie will never take all the credit, for her son was definitely a vital piece in him realizing that, but she knew she had to have helped some. Regardless, her, Went, and Richie’s assistance was miniscule given that Eddie was always brave even without the help of others.

She can still clearly envision the devastated expression upon Eddie’s face the day they drove away from their Derry home. The goodbye between him and her son had been gut wrenching to watch even for a second from the rearview mirror. All bravery Eddie had mustered up in order to say goodbye to Richie had immediately vanished the minute Went turned the car in the opposite direction and she’d watched it, unable to say anything over the wails that tore from her son’s heart as he left what was, as Went correctly said now thirteen years later, his soulmate. 

Some parts of Derry were fading from her mind but Eddie Kaspbrak and the impact he had on her and her son was something she could never easily forget. And she knows a part of Richie still holds onto him whether he knows it or not. An itch of sorts that prickles anytime something presses against the forefront of his brain and screams  _ Eddie.  _ Whether it be the sight of an inhaler, someone speaking in a rapid and excitable voice, or warm eyes that somehow feel like home—Eddie still occupied a piece of Richie’s soul and evidence of that seemed to flicker in fleeting moments.

The most recent piece of evidence was Richie getting up to some of his old shenanigans in a New York bar. Richie has been doing amazing in the world of entertainment—not that Maggie was surprised. She knew he was meant to make people laugh and to build a career for himself based on the skills he came by so naturally. He was steadily becoming a favorite cast member on SNL and was beginning to book some deals outside of the show in the form of movies and some voice work. He rarely did stand up anymore for he was so heavily bombarded with different work that he did enjoy, but Maggie knew a part of him missed the comfort of writing his own material and making people laugh simply by jabbing his jaws on stage and not by following a script which did have room for his own creative contribution but at the end of the day, was not something he could pridefully claim as his own.

Despite this, he could not deny that he’d accumulated some semblance of fame in the last few years and given this, he had to finally find himself a secure manager and not just someone that found him work and signed off on stuff with little to no interaction. He was able to find someone with the help of his boss, Lorne Michaels, and that someone was Steve Covall whom Maggie and Went both genuinely liked a lot. They’d met him just before the release of  _ Superbad  _ and Maggie nearly choked when he realized this particular individual was yet again, another Eddie lookalike.

He was not an exact mirror image in the way Jason had been, but he was startlingly similar to the young man that still inhabited a special piece of her heart. Steve was rather short, just barely surpassing her height. He was meticulous and well organized which was essential when handling her son who never grew out of his tornado-like personality. He was extremely energetic and somehow managed to keep Richie in check by seeking out roles that best suited him and always looking out for his best interest of heart—even when it came to his life outside of work.

Maggie admittedly had some speculations about the relationship between Richie and Steve. There seemed to be a dynamic between the two that went far beyond what was natural between most managers and their clients. There was no need for Steve to restyle Richie’s hair right before the premiere of his film, insisting that the stylist didn’t appreciate Richie’s “beautiful eyes” which resulted in an uneasy laugh from her son and a quick flush across his stubbled cheeks. She also took note of the way Richie seemed to look at the other man when he thought no one, especially someone as observant as her, was looking. It was an expression, not completely like what he had when he looked at Eddie, but was something that suggested a level of admiration and perhaps love that one might not expect between people who presented themselves as individuals with a “business-only” relationship. 

Sadly, even with very obvious indicators that there was indeed a relationship either already established or in the makings between Steve and Richie, Maggie knew it could not end well. It was destined to be yet another Jason scenario if Richie’s uneasy nature in regards to how he handled his publicly repressed sexuality was to continue—and Maggie could tell that it was for the foreseeable future. She had no idea how to approach the subject with him without triggering his anxiety which in turn upset his already sensitive stomach or aroused an unmereited level of rage that seemed to only come out when she implied that he was anything other than heterosexual. She could only hope that if her theorized relationship between the two were to crumble, they would not allow it to corrupt Richie’s career. 

She was immensely proud of her son’s steady rise to fame. He wasn’t necessarily  _ huge  _ or a household name as of yet—but he was popular enough where he had warranted himself a few paparazzi pictures which she as a mother felt obligated to clip out and keep for memory sake. What she is not overly thrilled about and is quite honestly devastated to hear, is the fact that his enhanced social status has created a life that allotted for a significant more amount of partying which in turn has led him to start drinking whilst at these parties or anytime he decides to go to a bar with some of his fellow cast mates. 

He admitted to drinking over the phone the morning after he had his very first drink since his first attempt toward recovery. 

“I did something last night.” He had told her, shame very clear in his voice. “And I need you to know that I am okay.”

“Okay…” She had responded slowly, concern burning throughout her body. 

“I-I had a shot last night.  _ One  _ shot… and half of a beer.” He informed her.

“Oh Richie,” She felt her heart drop into her stomach and a cold chill had traveled down the length of her spine. Was it all starting again? Were they going to have to pull him out of the city and go through a third round of rehab? She had been doing her very best to forget Derry and had done absolutely no snooping but perhaps even  _ thinking  _ about the past life she had there was enough to eradicate his progress and put him back to square one. If that was the case, she would be willing to go through with it and would be certain to ensure that he felt no shame and that he knew he was fully supported.

“It’s not like that!” He immediately insisted. “I felt okay. I felt in control and I have absolutely no desire to take anything. I didn’t really have a desire to drink either. I just did because we were all just talking and having fun. It wasn’t something that I  _ craved _ or anything.” 

“Alright.” She had let out a slow breath. “Do you think this is something we need to discuss with a therapist?”

“I think I will, but I feel like I can drink without it being a problem again. All of my friends, Lorne, and Steve here know about the stuff with the drugs and everything and they all told me if they could see it becoming an issue they would tell me if I didn’t realize it or they would try to contact you or dad or something. If that were to happen, I will definitely go back into rehab right away. I promise.” He was quiet for a moment. “You can tell dad all of this too but I promise you that I am okay and I think I’m going to keep being okay.”

She elects to accept his word that day but is reasonably paranoid in her opinion. Maggie wants nothing more than to trust her son but she can never forget the image of her son’s rattling breath as his body twitched itself into what was nearly lifelessness. The fear of him somehow spiraling back into such deadly habits will always follow her but she knows she has to loosen her hold, especially being on the other side of the country and hope that he knows what he’s doing and is truly as dedicated to his recovery as he has demonstrated in the past, even if that means allowing him a substance that he claims serves to do nothing but make him a little more warm and easy when it comes to parties or karaoke night at his favorite bars.

It becomes very obvious that the effects of alcohol truly do just that and loosen him up greatly for those karaoke nights when a video of him singing whilst very clearly intoxicated appears on TMZ not long after he confessed to drinking socially again. While she is initially fearful that this will be indicative of a downward spiral, she finds herself, alongside Went, laughing at their son and then blanching when they realize the song he is singing in the grainy, shoddily shot video that to someone who is unaware of Richie’s past, would not be able to detect the hidden meaning behind his song of choice or what it suggests: Richie remembers Eddie Kaspbrak. 

In the video, Richie stumbled toward a stage as he’s called to sing the song he must have requested earlier that night. His grin is goofily large and his eyes are squinty behind his glasses that are lopsided on the bridge of his nose. In one hand is a pitcher that is half drained and the other clutches the microphone as the tune to  _ Eddie My Love  _ by The Chordettes plays throughout the bar. His friends and other bar goers in the video hoot with laughter at the sound of her son singing slightly off-key to the song that to them is just another forgotten oldie, but to her son holds a history for a boy he once loved more than anything. 

xXx

**December 2008**

For the most part, Richie enjoys most of the characters he gets to play on SNL. He has a few that have become recurring which tend to be his most favorite to portray. Richie is still honest with the fact that he misses doing his own work and writing his own jokes for nightly gigs but as a whole, SNL has thus far been a rather fun experience for him—even with the undue amount of anxiety it does give him. Maggie can always see the easily missed signs of the nerves her son feels whilst watching him on TV in the form of his eyes, visibly irritated from the contacts he insists on wearing while on camera, nervously tracking back and forth, his hands balling up and shaking at his sides, and the gnawing of his bottom lip anytime he nearly breaks or when he’s attempting to ground himself whenever someone else is executing their own lines. 

Some of the characters he portrays are questionable in her opinion but she always finds herself entertained by his ability to pull off just about any persona whereas some of the cast members, she’s noticed, are only really capable of playing themselves where the only change is a wig or a pisspoor accent. However, she cannot say she is particularly fond of his role in the “Overly Affectionate Family” or the Kissing Family as it is later dubbed. Upon seeing it for the first time with Went, she nearly loses her shit upon watching her son engage in rather violent games of tonsil hockey with just about every single person on the screen. The aggressive nature of the kissing feels like something she really shouldn’t be watching as if it is almost like an invasion of something in her son’s more  _ private _ affairs.

“What the fuck?” She croaks once they go to commercial break, glancing over at her husband who appears just as disgruntled as her.

“I feel like I was intruding on something.” Went admits. 

“Jesus Christ.” She groans, burying her hands in the mess of her hair. “And it’s  _ flu season! _ ” 

“Alright, Eddie Kaspbrak.” Went snickers. She jabs him in the ribs for that.

The new Blackberry phone Richie got her as an early Christmas present (as he would be unable to come home this year) buzzes on the coffee table. She picks it up, seeing that it’s the devil himself and immediately picks up.

“What the hell was  _ that _ ?” Maggie demands, her brain still replaying the scene through her head truly against her will.

He snorts loudly over the phone. “Yeah, I probably should’ve given you a heads up on that one.”

“Is this gonna be regular?” She presses.

“I think so. Lorne thinks it’s real funny.” She can imagine him shrugging dismissively. 

“Richie, do you realize how  _ unsanitary  _ that is?” 

Went cackles next to her, head tossed back.

“I know.” He grumbles. “Rudd has the flu right now.”

She jolts at that. “And you really felt it was necessary to… go at it like  _ that _ then?” She asks, absolutely exasperated, shaking her head. 

“I mean, yeah.” He chortles. “I’m not gonna half ass it.” A buzz of silence. “Was I at least good?” Insecurity bleeds into his voice and she immediately feels guilty.

“You were funny, yes.” Maggie answers truthfully. He was exceptionally funny especially being that he was playing what was clearly the family idiot when Richie, despite his antics, was anything but. She was not trying to attack him for his performance but was more so just genuinely concerned for his physical wellbeing especially with everything that he had on the horizon. Any sickness could negatively impact his line of work. “We very much enjoyed watching you as always. We just want you to take care of yourself.”

“I am.” Richie says sincerely. “I just got some Vitamin C tabs from CVS and I’ve been drinking orange juice.”

“Are you eating a healthy diet?” She presses her luck. Sue her. “And  _ not  _ Red Bull and Goldfish?”

“Jury’s out on that one.” Richie states. “I’ll look out after myself. I’m a big boy, mom.” 

xXx

Not even a week later, Richie is down with a rather aggressive flu that he doesn’t even have the strength to tell her about. No, instead she has to hear about it from his manager, Steve who took Richie to the hospital when he woke up shivering and unable to walk without experiencing severe vertigo, very clearly not capable of making whatever writer meetings had been previously set up for him. Once Richie received the diagnosis and was brought home to rest, Steve made sure to text Maggie about Richie seeing as he knew that Richie would probably neglect to tell his mom or dad anything and allow them to simmer in their own worry as he was too weak and achy to even think of making any phone calls. 

**Steve C.**

**Steve** **: Richie has the flu. Just took him to**

**the hospital. He has a fever of**

**103 rn and is really out of it.**

**Maggie** **: Oh thank you so much for telling me.**

**Is he gonna be okay? Are they keeping**

**him?**

**Steve:** **They see no reason to rn. But I’m**

**going to pick up his prescription now.**

**I just wanted to get him home.**

**Maggie:** **Thank you Steve. I appreciate**

**it.**

After sending the last message, her phone buzzes again, probably Steve giving a gratuitous “your welcome” but she ignores it in favor of calling Richie to check up on him and to of course give him a motherly “told you so.” She knew damn well that he picked up the bug from the sketch and was unable to combat it because despite his insistence that he was indeed a grown ass man capable of taking care of himself, he probably completely disregarded any healthy practices that could potentially strengthen his immunity in favor of indulging in his usual bullshit diet and shitty sleeping habits.

“Hi.” He answers, sounding rather pathetic with a raspy voice.

Her desire to tease him declines ever so slightly but is still there—something she definitely got from being married to Went. “Hi, honey. I’m guessing you didn’t take any of those Vitamin C tabs and did indeed try to survive off of nothing but Redbull.” She snickers playfully. He huffs a hoarse laugh. “Steve told me you were sick. How are you feeling?”

“Shitty.” An attempt to clear what is probably a very sore throat. “Just gotta wait for ‘em. Probably with ‘is mom.” He slurs. He is very clearly delirious and a spike of worry regarding his present temperature rises within her. 

“Yeah, honey. Steve’s getting your prescription.”

“ I’unno about no Steve.” He grumbles back, a round of wet coughs echoing through the phone. He groans loudly. She knows Richie can be somewhat of a baby when he’s sick but it’s very obvious that he’s definitely not doing too well. 

“What do you mean?” She inquires, concerned. If he is really this out of it, his fever may have spiked beyond the already worrying 103 Steve mentioned it being; perhaps it might be a good idea for him to be admitted to the hospital for a night. 

“He’s gon’ take real good care of me. Always does.” Richie mumbles to her.

“Yes,  _ Steve _ does.” She responds slowly, hoping that this time he is able to remember Steve. God, is this  _ all  _ fever related or is this just yet another round of Derry-related amnesia? Is he going to forget her and Went next?

“Not Steve.” Richie tells her.

“Who Richie?” She questions.

“Eds.” He murmurs. “He’ll have somethin’ to fix me up in his cute lil’ fanny pack. He always does.”

xXx

**May 2009**

Richie gives Maggie one of the best Mother’s Day presents she can receive as an empty nested mother in the form of a plane ticket and a work-free weekend that he has set up so the two of them can spend the next few days together. She flies into JFK and very nearly cries as Richie stands there, waiting for her with a wide grin plastered across his shaven face. He’s holding a shoddily made poster that reads  **WELCOME HOME FROM PRISON, MOM!**

She shakes her head upon seeing it, jogging toward him as fast as she can whilst weighed down by a slightly over packed carry-on bag. He takes a few long strides toward her and wraps his arms around her, very nearly picking her right up off the ground.

“So they really didn’t sentence you to death row after you killed all of your former husbands, Ma?” He asks in a southern accent. 

“You really can’t say shit like that at an airport, you know?” She laughs tearfully, smacking him upside the head.

“It’s good to see you, mom.” He says, grabbing her bags from her. 

“Thanks for bringing me here.” 

“Yeah, poor daddy-o said he needed a break from this old bat he’s been stuck with for the last thirty-somethin’ years.” He teases, guiding her out toward his car. 

“Oh did he now?” She shoves him playfully, barely getting him to veer sideways in the slightest. He’s not the same bony ass teenager anymore. Since recovering, he’s filled out a good amount and finally has the same sturdiness that comes from Went’s side of the family. 

“Yup.” He responds, popping the ‘p.’ He chuckles to himself, gently placing her bags in the rusty old truck he’s had since high school. He has yet to indulge in a fancy-schmancy sports car to show off his career success or really anything that luxurious. He no longer has a roommate as his playwright aspiring roommate did end up finding his own success and ended up married not long after their first lease ended. Richie ended up moving toward Chelsea and now had an objectively modest place for himself. However, Maggie has a feeling such an elaborate type purchase will come in his late thirties but not as a way to boast but because of the mid-life crisis that will definitely wreak havoc on her son’s relentless insecurities. “I kid. I’ll probably take him somewhere on Father’s Day so you can have another break from him.”

She shakes his head at that but knows Richie is just kidding around with her. She never understood couples that needed a “break” from one another—especially married couples. Even now, just hours after bidding her husband a farewell at LAX, she already missed him. “You’re too much, Richard.”

“It’s my brand.” He shrugs, sliding into the driver’s side. “Alright, well we can get you to my apartment and get you settled in the guest room and let you rest up some before we get dinner and stuff.”

“Is there anything you want us to do tonight?”

“I mean it is  _ your  _ visit.” Richie chuckles, but then wiggles uncomfortably as he manages to zoom through a light in what is most certainly not a legal manner. “I might have gotten you another... uh bigger present to go with the plane ticket.”

“Richie!” She scolds, narrowing her eyes at her son. She appreciates anything he gives to her but she does not particularly support his desire to give her and Went such expensive gifts. “You know what I like to do when I visit. We always go to breakfast with your dad and then walk around Central Park. We can just stay in this evening and that’s okay with me.”

“We  _ will  _ do that tomorrow. I promise.” He laughs meekly. “But I did get us tickets to see  _ Wicked  _ in about three hours.”

“ _ RICHARD WENTWORTH TOZIER!”  _ She squeals, smacking him on the tricep not really caring if it jolts him ever so slightly behind the wheel. She cannot deny the immediate excitement that overflows inside of her but she knows that those tickets go for  _ way too much  _ money and are  _ way more  _ than she wants her son spending on her. “You do not need to be blowing your money on  _ me  _ like that.”

“It’s a Mother’s Day present!” He insists.

“The plane ticket was  _ enough,  _ you goon.” 

“Too bad.” Richie shrugs, briefly averting his attention from the road to maturely stick his tongue out at her. 

xXx

Despite the peculiar guilt that she feels at having her son giving her such a lavish gift, she does have an absolutely stellar evening. She is positively enamored with the entire performance even if locals like to insist that it’s overrated. She doesn’t give a shit. It was truly spectacular to her and she cries tears of joy after the final bow. Richie has always had an immense appreciation for the arts and that is something she never quite had until her son immersed himself in all of his various activities (which he obviously cannot recall) and of course the development of his present career. She is thankful to have had a child that has gracefully exposed her to so many things she may have otherwise missed out on. 

They end up going out for a late brunch as opposed to the initially planned breakfast. Before turning in last night, they’d both agreed they would each be far too exhausted to wake up early enough for breakfast and were content in having a Mother’s Day Brunch instead. It’s a nice meal and he of course insists on paying for everything and easily outsmarts her quick hand at attempting to slide the card toward the waiter before he can. Richie has always been far too giving, never having had a single selfish bone in his entire body. That itself, to her, is testament to how she and Went raised him. 

Sure, they had some bumps in the road. The last decade could support that claim with ease but she now knows that can easily be attributed to that stupid supernatural clown or something along those lines. As they walk through Central Park and he tells her about a role he is contemplating in auditioning for, she cannot help the smile that perks up on her face as she feels deep inside that she really has helped to raise a remarkable man.

“I’m a little nervous ‘bout it, but Steve’s been pushing me to try more things.” He shrugs. “I kinda wanna try something… not as comedic in the future… maybe?”

She nods. “I think you could pull off a serious role.”

“I just don’t always wanna be the funny man.” He laughs something edging on self deprecating. 

“You’re more than that.” She reassures. “You always have been.”

He smiles distantly, cocking his head as he looks off toward the grass where despite the hard work of the city’s gardeners is littered with a sea of dandelions, all in varying stages of development—some bright yellow that would stain a child’s nose bright yellow if they were to try and sniff it and some are older with their fluffy white seedlings that tend to flutter off the base in the spring breeze. He steps off the walking path and eases himself down in the field of weeds that to Maggie, are definitely more flower-like and shouldn’t be discarded or weeded away because of their technical label. She follows him, curious about his sudden fixation on the plant as he pulls a fluffy one out of the ground and gently blows on it, sending the fuzz outward to hopefully bud some more dandelions. 

A childlike giggle escapes him and suddenly she sees him as a five year-old again. She can, clear as day, see him running around the Derry Elementary playground, with the yellows ones stuck in his curly locks, blowing away the seedlings off the fluffier ones, alongside Eddie Kaspbrak. She remembers the day they left Derry, reminiscing about the same memories while Eddie stuck one behind his year, not knowing that after that goodbye, Richie, like the rest of their friends, would forget him too.

He smiles at it and there is just something so soft and positively heartwarming about seeing her thirty-three year old son so enthralled by these little weeds. He twists one between his fingers, steadily increasing the speed so the white fluff blows back against his nose making him sniffle just a bit. But that sniffle evolves into a slight shudder of his body as he picks up a yellow one and stares at it, the smile turning into a grimace as a choked sound gurgles from deep inside his throat. His jaw quivers and she edges toward him as he suddenly breaks down, crying heavily as he stares at the yellow plant. 

“Oh Richie.” She says softly, placing her hand on his cheek and wiping away some of the tears tracking down his cheeks. 

He shakes his head, his eyes meeting the ones that his own blue ones took after. “I-I don’t even know why I’m crying.” He sobs around an attempted laugh. But Maggie did. She knew well enough. 

“I do.” She whispers to him, wrapping her arms around his broadened shoulders. “And it’s okay.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was okay! It's a similar format to previous chapters... before I wrecked Richie's shit if you detected that! I hope this one was a good distraction from the usual angst and was okay to read. Sorry if it was kinda boring!
> 
> Also, I'm just now finding out Eddie My Love was recorded by SEVERAL different groups and I noticed that the Teen Queens is the most frequently used in the It fandom but personally I just like the sound of The Chordettes more and that's the version I would have envisioned for Richie's karaoke just because he is a goober. Unpopular opinion? Probably. 
> 
> Also I chose Wicked because that's the show my parents were SUPPOSED to see in 2009 after my dad bought these hella expensive tickets only for my mom to get sick and need surgery the weekend before. He sold them for double what he paid though which was lowkey iconic. 
> 
> We're getting closer to CH. 2. Obviously it's gonna be a realllllly different take on it because it's from an extremely outside perspective and not from someone actually battling that trick ass clown. I hope that'll be okay? We still got a few more to go before we delve into that! :)
> 
> I hope this one was okay and keep wearing ya masks.
> 
> Richie and Eddie decided they could make a trip to Bev and Ben's since they've all been quarantined and are driving there because Eddie refuses to fly right now! They are excited to swim in their pool and get tans. Eddie and Ben are both tanned gods. Bev's freckles are just starting to connect because redhead. Richie is a lobster.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. So it's been a spicy second but I am home!!!! I had so much fun on my lil excursion. We went to a ton of abandoned places because what else can you do during a pandemic except visit locations condemned by the city? Ahah. We got a bunch of cool pictures too so that was a mcfuckin vibe!!! We got hammmmmmered to the It Drinking Game I made because I designed it to murder your liver <3 It was literally the best two weeks and I wanna go back now. 
> 
> Unfortunately, however, I did manage to get poison ivy... on my literal ass because I asked, "hey is this poison ivy?" while literally touching the plant and sitting in it for a picture and my friend says, "no." and we both ended up covered in it and are both ridiculously itchy especially on our asses... so that's pretty cool. I did say, at the moment, "wow i'm being such a stan." bc I thought I was paranoid. No. I was just right. 
> 
> Regardless, SUPER FUN WEEK but am hype to be returning to this... kinda? Self doubt? That do be a thing when writing chapters like this. This is a very mellow, filler-esque chapter that doesn't have much substance to it. The next chapter is probably a tad heavier and our time skips are gonna start going up more and more these next couple of years. Like next chapter will probably have several time skips and end in 2015 and after that... we hitting the bIG SHIT. :) ahah. -finger guns- 
> 
> I am gonna preface this by saying this one is EXTREMELY rough. I had 0 direction with it and it's honestly just 2012 filler wattpad material and am I ashamed? You bet your sweet nationwide is on your side ass I am. But this is what ya gonna get unless you decide to peace out and abandon me int he trenches. Yikes. I did try and I hope this one ends up being as okay as it can. Idk why not writing for a period of time leaves me rustier than the trick ass tin man. Oof. Breaks fuck me up.

Maggie knew that even with the success of his career, Richie was spiraling. 

**May 2011**

Maggie Tozier, while not a quiet woman in the slightest, has always tried to control her laughter and minimize the embarrassing snorting (which Wenworth had teased her relentlessly for when he’d first heard the honking sound back in college) that emitted from her nose when she found something particularly hilarious. This was a near impossible feat right now as she watched her son portray her most favorite recurring character on SNL: Stefon. Stefon was adored by most people who were avid SNL fans and even without her obvious relation to the actor behind the goofy role, Stefon was a peculiar character that had easily wiggled his way into Maggie’s heart as her most favorite of Richie’s regular roles on the show.

Stefon was an interesting character with an airy 900-number voice that vocalized the most peculiar nightclub locations and emphasized his points with eccentric hand movements that Richie had strategically mastered to hide the lower half of his face anytime he (frequently) broke character as a result of his friend, John-something trying (and succeeding) in making him fuck up, a hairstyle that certainly did not flatter her son’s angular face, a tacky _Ed Hardy_ shirt that looked like it belonged on one of the tool bags featured on _Jersey Shore,_ and tight-fitted jeans that had back pockets that sparkled more than a chandelier. Richie had actually forgotten to take them off the last time she and Went had visited him and the two of them had silently snickered as he sported the fashion atrocity (even when compared to Richie’s already eyesore of a closet) across the streets of Manhattan for hours until he finally heard a stranger whistle about his “fancy pants.” 

Despite the odd nature of Stefon’s persona, Maggie could not help but find him absolutely hysterical and rather endearing. The facials and mannerisms her son managed to execute despite breaking character during each episode (which only added to her adoration of Steon even if Richie beat himself up over it all the time) were gut-bustingly funny to her and had her sides sore with laughter anytime he was featured. Stefon, as any character on SNL did have some lowbrow moments— that was undeniable. The character was merely a stereotyped version of a gaudy, socially elite gay man that was unabashedly attracted to the host of _Weekend Update,_ Seth Myers. It was quite surprising to see how comfortable Richie was in portraying someone that was very obviously “out and proud” and it was more shocking that Richie actually _enjoyed_ performing such a role. Maggie was not one to question why her son was so content in playing a character that went against everything he had insisted he was ever since leaving Manie, especially because she did not want to give him any reason to truly doubt himself (more than he already did on a daily basis) and to contemplate whether this was a role worth continuing.

For Maggie, it was utterly impossible not to crack up at Stefon’s interactions with Seth whom she’d met back in 2010 and while she was fully aware (unbeknownst to Richie) of her son’s secretive relationship with his manager, there was an obvious attraction to his co-star that Richie clearly could not hide from her watchful eye in the way he thought he probably could. It was a unique attraction. With Steve, like Jason from Richie’s UCLA days (memories Maggie wished she could forget), it was obvious that the attraction was primarily rooted in the fact that the man was yet another Eddie Kaspbrak clone that captured her son’s heart as a result of the familiarity of not only his appearance but near-neurotic tendencies that certainly triggered something warm in Richie’s muddled subconscious. His attraction to Seth, however, was one that was more so based on his personality and dedication to his work—not that Richie would ever admit to that, let alone act on it. Anytime her son phoned home, he would enthusiastically rave on about Seth and how talented the man was and the little quirks he as a co-star had picked up on and found absolutely charming. But, Richie would insist it was mere appreciation as an artist and nothing more. As far as everyone at SNL was concerned, Richie was a heterosexual man that was so comfortbale in his own sexuality that he was perfectly content in playing tonsil hockey with a variety of good looking men and only had his manager move in with him for convenience sake and said manager _totally_ lived in the guest room that was actually only ever touched by Maggie and Went. 

“God,” Maggie wheezes as the show cuts to commercial and tears burn the surface of her eyes. “That was good.” She huffs out, another snort creeping past her nostrils. 

Went chuckles gently as the sound, rubbing her knee with a free hand. “Always is with Stefon.” He clears his throat, attempting the breathy voice they’ve forced their son to do anytime they’ve gone to visit him. “Our son has _everything._ Heinous clothing, an inability to maintain character for sixty seconds, and what’s that? Potential clown-induced amnesia from Ma—”

“Don’t talk about _that_ , you moron.” She hisses, giving him a deserved smack to the chest. Paranoia briefly surges in her heart and she knows the concern for the wellbeing of her son, while it is always a frontal thought of hers, will be significantly heightened for the next week or so with the mention of their hometown. Any mention of that hellscape feels like a jinx against the slight stability they have found solace in within the last several years. 

“Sorry.” Went responds sincerely, a sheepish smile eradicating any feelings of anger she may have felt intermingling with the anxiety. 

“You can’t do it right anyway.” She criticizes, booping her finger upon his red nose, burnt from a weekend cruise Richie surprised them with last week. 

Went gasps, hand fluttering to his chest as if genuinely offended. “ _I’m_ the reason he knows how to do those voices!”

“Yes, _you_ should receive all the credit for our son becoming famous for being a complete and utter trashmouth. 

“I agree.” Went declares. “I should be in the credits of every work he does from now on and receiving at _least_ 70% of his salary.”

“You sound like one of those _Toddler and Tiara_ mothers.” Maggie giggles, kissing the line of his jaw. 

“Now, Richard, if you don’t win the Ultimate Grand Supreme, it’s not that mommy won’t _love_ you anymore, but she might just look at you like you’re an abomination and a complete disgrace to the family name.” Went sasses in his best valley girl impression.

“The fact that you know the name of the top title is quite interesting to me.” Maggie chortles. 

Richie’s career had truly taken off in the last several years and was showing absolutely no signs of stopping. He was almost constantly getting offers for voice acting opportunities and auditions typically for potty-mouthed comedies to a smattering of more serious roles that flexed the extraordinary emotional range her son had within his acting toolbox that frequently went untapped by producers when meeting with someone known solely for their ability to be the “funny man.” She always knew that her son would find great success in whatever he put his mind to but he was already amounting to more than she would have ever anticipated. 

He was nowhere near becoming an A-list actor, but such a title was typically reserved for the Oscar-winning stars and the old Hollywood professionals that’d been in the game for decades—not funny guys in their thirties on a skit-based TV show. Nonetheless, Richie Tozier was steadily becoming a household name and it was a rather interesting experience for her and her husband to say the least.

It was not uncommon for clients at the dental practice to take note of their not particularly common last name and ask if there was any relation between them and “the guy who plays Stefon.” Maggie would simply chuckle and inform them that her son was indeed Richie Tozier. This was always immediately met with excitement and genuine enthusiasm—something Maggie always wished she could somehow capture the moment in order to have legitimate evidence to prove to her son that his talent was appreciated by a wide array of people and to hopefully minimize the amount of self-deprecation and doubt he had pertaining to his work on the show and in movies.

She and Went were often posed with questions that were typically friendly in nature as to what their son was like before fame cast its light upon him and occasionally there were more invasive questions regarding their son’s dating life or reported history with drugs which they always dismissed and skimmed around. It was not their place to discuss without Richie being present and Maggie really had no clue where people that asked such nosy things got off at. She nor Went let such questions bother them too much and generally focused on the kind things people had to say about their son.

It was definitely interesting to be related to someone that could be deemed as famous (even if Richie tried to insist otherwise) but what was more bizarre was the fact that Maggie actually knew _several_ famous people and she had actually, in her honest opinion, had helped in raising these people. However, she couldn’t really admit to it or talk about it or hell, express praise for those individuals to their face. Without trying, Maggie had discovered that Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough (now going by William), and Ben Hanscom had also become well known individuals in their respective fields of work. 

Bev, who had always had a stellar eye for fashion, was now one of the leaders in the fashion industry, with an entire line of clothing designed for individuals of all genders, of all sizes, and all styles that she shared with her husband, Thomas Rogan. Maggie could not say she was overly impressed with him in the interview she had accidentally stumbled upon whilst channel surfing one night. He gave her an uneasy vibe that was almost too similar to that of Alvin Marsh and it was quite obvious that Rogan’s name was stamped on the brand, yes, but Bev was very clearly the brains behind the entire operation. While she could not announce to the world that Bev was something of a long lost daughter to her and her husband, only having existed in the past decade to save her son’s life from a near fatal overdose, she could and did support her in the form of purchasing a few items from her winter line for both her and her husband. 

Bill who always had a talent for crafting the most chilling and vaguely morbid tales had become a world renowned author with his books (which were very clearly written because he wanted to see them be made into movies) that were now being transformed into scripts for future films. Maggie had bought the books for her and her husband to read and she’d gotten through some of them and she did enjoy them for the most part with the exception of the very obvious Bill self-inserts and the endings were questionable at best. They felt lacking and unfinished and yes, life doesn’t always have a happy ending but it seemed like Bill relied too heavily on the shock factor of a startlingly unhappy conclusion for the characters she found herself getting attached to. 

Ben, while not famous or known in the same way that Richie, Bev, and Bill were, was a name she recognized scrolling through stock reports on her phone whilst in an airport (not something she did frequently but only when she didn’t feel like making any awkward eye contact with others in the waiting area) and happened to see _Hansom Associates_ pop up as an architecture firm that was somewhat of a powerhouse. After her hippocampus immediately electrified at the sight of the name, she had conducted her own research and discovered the success Ben had had as a founder and president of his own firm. However, it was noted by multiple sources that Ben was rarely one to engage face-to-face with his employees and lived a rather lonesome life in the oppressively large home he’d built for himself.

Sure, all of this served as a relief for it was evidence that at least some of Richie’s friends were doing well enough for themselves that they’d found an objective amount of success; but it was quite obvious that they were each suffering in some way or other, as Richie had with addition (and still did in regards to his anxieties) and were not genuinely happy people after leaving Derry. Eddie (whom Maggie desperately wanted to find), Stan, and Mike were names she could not find on any obvious source medias and she was not particularly keen on researching them in case such intentional investigating may rouse some less than pleasant consequences for her son. But Maggie was fairly confident that they probably were also in the same position of being decent at whatever career they’d found themselves in as all of the Losers were wildly intelligent and gifted individuals (which completely contradicted the name they’d given themselves as kids) but were most likely marred with the same perpetual unhappiness and followed by a heavy cloud that accompanied them after leaving Derry—with the exception of Mike who probably found his own form of misery by simply staying in the hellhole that was Derry. 

She wanted nothing more than to find a way to contact the Losers and to hopefully trigger their forgotten memories of one another in hopes of uniting them and allowing them to escape the despair that most likely followed them out of the town. But with the sinister faced clown that still haunted some of her worst dreams, that was totally out of the question and all she and Went could do was regularly check the news for updates on the more famous Losers and make attempts at encouraging Richie’s rising career and try to boost his mood anytime he struggled with his own malaise. 

“Oh shut up. It’s a good show to remind myself that despite all the shit we’ve gone through with Dickard, we did pretty fucking good with him in comparison to the assholes on that show. ” Went chuckles before adding, “Also, one of my clients is a pageant mom and tried to get me to bleach her four-year-old’s teeth in order to win that bullshit title.” 

“I hope you said no.” Maggie’s brows raise in concern.

“Well I’m sure you had to have noticed that the _wonderful_ Ms. Sanders is no longer scheduled to receive anymore cleanings from me.”

“ _She’s_ a pageant mom? God I’m not surprised. She told me I looked like a ghost and should consider roasting myself in a tanning bed or whatever the last time I saw her.” Maggie huffs, remembering the day the leathery faced Sanders woman with cheeto-dust colored fingers and a confederate flag purse had insisted that Maggie was living as a mockery to the beauty of Californians or some other bullshit, due to her fairer, complexion that lacked the same mismatched foundation and a layer of cheap orange spray that she had. 

Went threw his head back with laughter. “I hope you haven’t considered that suggestion. I like you just as you are.”

“Of course not, igit.”

“Just checking. If you were going to, I’d support you but I would of course have concerns for the health of your skin.”

“Nerd.” Maggie sneers. “You think you’re a doctor just because you stab gums and say ‘you’re bleeding because you don’t floss.’”

“I _am_ a doctor and I do _not_ stab gums but I know damn well you didn’t floss last time I cleaned your teeth.”

“That’s _your_ job to do for me.” She whines petulantly.

“YOUR ONLY FLOSSING IS DURING YOUR CLEANINGS?!” Went exclaims, absolutely exasperated.

“No!” Maggie says, like the liar she most certainly is. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, love.”

“I’m going to pretend you’re not lying to me.” Went grumbles at her, giving her a chaste kiss to the forehead before returning his attention to the TV. “He’s got an audition this week, right?”

“Yeah. Just some voice work, I believe.” Maggie answers and recalls the phone call she had with her son that morning. “I think he was thinking about doing stand-up again.”

“Really?” Went raises a brow at that. “Is that going… backward for him?”

“I don’t think so, no.” She shakes her head. “He has a meeting about that with Steve and some other members of his management team in a few weeks for a potential tour in 2012 or 2013 or something.”

“Huh.” He considers this. “That could be an interesting step for him.”

“I think so too.” She agrees, nuzzling up against him. 

xXx

**December 2011**

After further planning that was supposed to remain totally confidential between Richie and his management team but was not possible in the slightest because Richie told his parents nearly everything, it was made known that Richie was scheduled to begin his stand-up tour, _It Gets Worse,_ by March of the upcoming new year. As of now, the tour had not yet been announced to the public and had only been teased at in the form of a few vague Instagram posts on the account that Richie allowed Steve to run entirely and only had a hand in when it came to a few poorly edited pictures of dogs that Richie would run into anytime he was walking around the city. The tour and all of the dates would not officially be released until 2012 was officially rung in by the ball dropping in Times Square. 

Maggie and Went would actually be ringing in the new year with their son as Richie had surprised them with the opportunity to witness Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve. Maggie had actually planned on scheduling a trip for them to see their son at some point before the tour since his schedule would be ridiculously packed with tour dates, flying back and forth to New York for SNL every weekend, and of course, attending pre-scheduled auditions, all of which would make it near impossible for him to see his parents for the rest of the year. This was something that genuinely weighed heavily on her at the idea of her son running himself ragged this upcoming year and being unable to spend any time with her or Went. She was, though, extremely proud of all that he had set before him in the next year and knew that it could only bring him more success and encourage further growth. She did, however, plan on surprising him at a few of his shows, and not just the ones that she knew were to be scheduled close to their home.

Maggie had also wanted to see Richie because in the last several months, Maggie had noticed that Richie was struggling more in terms of his mental health than he had been for a while and she knew she and Went desperately needed to check up on him. She wasn’t quite sure what was causing this but there had been a multitude of signs in the last few months to suggest that Richie was on the verge of a spiral—that is if he wasn’t already in one.

He was starting to call home more often, sometimes several times a day and while Maggie was always happy to hear his voice, she knew that this meant anytime Richie was not at work, he had too much free time in order to be able to call her which meant that he was most likely isolating himself in his two bedroom apartment and not doing anything _outside_ of work. His performances on SNL, while still hysterical, were more obviously strained and Maggie could easily see the hollowness in his eyes that went so far beyond the typical anxiety he had when performing. She had even gotten a call from Steve that Richie had been having panic attacks while on air and while this didn’t seem to severely impact his execution (not that that mattered in comparison to his mental state) it was obvious that he was doing things just a touch rushed and was struggling to get through some of his skits. 

She hadn’t seen him since the impromptu cruise they’d taken back in May and Richie always dodged their Skype sessions, so it was hard to gauge how _bad_ he was really doing. Nevertheless, Maggie was certain that he was not doing well in the slightest. Although, he was certainly not doing nearly as bad as he had been whilst attending UCLA; that was hardly a fair comparison, however, since he was a complete junkie at that point in his life. For all she knew, he could be in a worse mental state than he was then, just without the addition of illicit substances and that was concerning to her.

She spent their entire flight ruminating over how to approach Richie’s mental health without overwhelming him or discrediting all that he was presently accomplishing. The fact that he was doing so much in spite of the decline most would miss, but she could sense from across the country, was truly mesmerizing and a touch disheartening that he was aiming to evoke so much joy out of others when he himself was very clearly struggling to fabricate a facade of joy. 

She raws at her chapped bottom lip with her teeth as she and Went meander through the crowded airport, filled with bustling people flying in from their own holiday excursions or like her and Went, are coming from different states and countries to witness the New Year’s festivities in Times Square. JFK isn’t the easiest airport to navigate but Went, being a father and for some reason all fathers seem to have this skill, had somehow committed the entire airport to memory ever since they first came into JFK when Richie had initially moved to the city and had made the necessary mental changes anytime construction of certain areas was completed and impacted their previous route. It was a skill, she as a worrisome mother with an abundance of other abilities pertaining to the care of their only son, she lacked but clearly made up for. 

Richie was in a writer’s meeting for the upcoming tour so he had informed them ahead of time that he would not be there in order to pick them up and had long ago given them their own key to his place so he told them to just get a taxi back to his place and he would be sure to ease the meeting along as speedily as possible so that they could hopefully grab dinner together and if not, he would be sure to come home with sushi from their favorite Hibachi place. 

They made it outside, immediately assaulted by the biting winter air they always managed to forget about whilst happily simmering away in southern California. Went’s teeth immediately began to chatter and Maggie found herself stomping her feet through the mushy, grey snow that coated the crackling sidewalks in order to prevent her under-layered feet from going numb or developing hypothermia. Went quickly found a taxi for the two of them and they each clambered into the backseat, gave the address, and quickly discovered that their taxi-driver was one for small talk so they of course indulged the friendly driver with a few tales of their own lifes and made sure to appropriately react to the stories he had to offer. 

Out of Maggie’s own paranoia, she had them drop them off about a block away from Richie’s place. She knew that no taxi driver was going to make it a point to determine who they were and who they were seeing and it was unlikely that this chatterbox driver that had a three-legged rescue dog named Peggy and a fascination for the art of stamp art was anything close to a serial killer, but her own more paranoid instincts always kicked and forced her to take the most extreme of measures when it came to protecting her son’s privacy which meant not disclosing the actual street that he lived on to anyone. It was her own strange neurosis and one that did not only annoy Went as he dragged the wheeled suitcase through more disgustingly, wet, mushy snow, but annoyed her as well as it was her own panic that meant she had to endure the stinging cold air that actually tore her throat to shreds with each inhale. 

Once they managed to slip and slide across the icy streets to Richie’s place, Maggie quickly discarded their shoes in order to not muck up his surprisingly clean floors. Richie was never one to be filthy; he was more of a scatterbrained individual with a propensity of living in a state of chaotic clutter. He did tend to miss some of seemingly minor details when it came to cleaning, like dusting his window blinds, scrubbing the baseboards, and sweeping the floor in such a way that was actually helpful and didn’t simply move the dirt under the foyer rug (that was definitely picked out with Steve’s keen eye for design and aesthetic because if it was up to Richie, his apartment would definitely resemble that of a fraternity house) or into a corner that was not as well-lit as the rest of his place. 

For most, a clean apartment may suggest a rise in mental functioning and general wellbeing, but for someone as chaotically childlike and incessantly buzzing as her son generally was, it was often the opposite. Richie had two extremes when it came to a decline in his mental wellbeing. If he was a complete slob that was content in allowing the melted ice cream from last week to dry upon his countertop in a sticky and rather smelly mess and to not change out of his week old underwear—there was something wrong. If Richie had the time to clean up this well for no particular reason (and it wasn’t like Richie ever felt the need to impress his parents with a clean house; Maggie was _more_ than aware of that)—there was something wrong. 

It was obvious that he was secluding himself within the confines of his home and utilized his time to dig at all the nooks and crannies and that stirred a greater sense of worry in the pit of her stomach.

“I think I’m going to take a quick shower.” Went calls to her as he makes his way toward the guest room.

“Alright. I’ll be in here.” Maggie responds from the living room, plopping herself on the couch. She scans the room for any other pieces of evidence that her son is not doing as well and all she finds is an eerily clean room (testament enough if you were to ask her) and a faint smell of Richie’s cheap ass cologne embedded into the fibers of the couch where she has told him to stop napping as he has already fallen victim to chronic back pain. Despite the concern ravaging through her system, the exhaustion that accompanies a time zone change and the general stress that is commonplace for flying across the country seems to settle in as she slowly melts into the cushions of the couch and allows her eyes to flutter shut as she pulls her knees as close to her chest as is possible for someone steadily approaching their sixties. It doesn’t take long for her to peacefully doze off.

xXx

She’s stirred awake by the sound of Richie swearing up a storm over something—a stubbed toe by the sound of his erratic bouncing that creaks the floorboards in the foyer. She stretches, startled briefly when her legs bump something and she sees that Went had the same idea after his shower and had dozed off on the other side of the couch and not even Richie’s shouting was able to rouse him—typical dad. She chuckles softly at that, rubbing her face and feeling the impression of the couch’s fabric bisecting her cheek. Evidence of a high quality nap. Maggie lifts herself up off the couch, her joints cracking as if trying to audibly remind her of her age.

“Rich?” She heads toward the kitchen where she can see him bustling about, rubbing her hands up and down her biceps as the post-nap chill that she’s always burdened with, settles into her bones.

“Hi!” He greets a little too loudly, eyes wild and lined with exhaustion from behind his lenses. He skips around the kitchen island which is now piled high with take-out bags and pulls her into a crushing hug. “How was your flight? Where’s dad?”

“It was good and he’s currently drooling into your couch cushions.” She chuckles, taking in his appearance and while it’s not as worrisome as she’d anticipated, he certainly looks like he’s been put through the ringer. He’s clearly missed a day or two with the razor if the patchy stubble across his jaw is anything to go by. His hair, slightly messier than he typically wears it and his eyes are encapsulated with dark circles. There is evidence that he’s dropped a little bit of weight with the fact that his cheekbones are just a tad more visible than normal. He doesn’t look awful but he definitely does not look like he’s been paying much mind to his personal health. “How are you doing, sweetheart?” She asks, already anticipating a lie.

“I’m okay.” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. She notices a section of grey forming around his temples. He’s a little young for his hair to be turning that much, but it’s unsurprising with the stress he is subject to on a daily basis. She narrows her eyes at him and he huffs out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m just worn out. Getting ready for this tour is taking a lot outta me.” 

“I am proud of you.” She tells him, cupping his face with her hands, to which he melts into, clearly having missed the gentle touch of a mother’s love. “It’s going to be all worth it in the end.”

“I hope.” He says breathlessly. “I spent weeks writing all of this stuff and some of it is actually my _own_ material.”

“Some of it?” She cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not writing the whole act? I thought that was your intent from the start.”

“No.” He sighs. “I _wanted_ to but the management team wasn’t entirely thrilled about everything.”

“And I told you we should fire them!” Another familiar voice chimes in and Maggie is pleased to see the kind face of Steve Covall coming in with an additional take-out bag and a backpack that she knows to be Richie’s. “Hi Maggie.” He greets pleasantly, giving her a swift side hug and moving to put his face close to Richie’s, lips puckered, but misses as Richie pulls himself to full height, a glimmer of fear twinkling in his bloodshot eyes. 

There is a silent exchange between the two that Maggie only just catches with her own keen observational skills. Steve’s eyes narrow in hurt and Richie gives a defensive grimace as his own apology which receives a halfhearted nod of understanding from the shorter man. It feels all too familiar to the interactions Richie had had with Jason and something in her wants to burst outward and tell her son that it’s okay for him to be himself around her but after such a long flight, she is not in the mood to cause a fight between everyone or induce a vomiting spell in her son that seems to be part of the package deal when it comes to discussing his sexuality and as if to emphasize her concerns, Richie opens a drawer and dry swallows a couple of Dramamine. 

“Hi Steve.” She greets kindly, feigning oblivion. “So he’s not writing the entire show?”

“No!” Steve grumbles. “This writing staff we hired is just so small-minded and quite frankly, so beneath him.” Steve points toward Richie and Richie rolls his eyes, unpacking a box of sushi and popping a spicy tuna roll into his mouth after dabbing a small amount of wasabi on it.

“Rich, why don’t you postpone the tour and find someone willing to represent what _you_ want to perform.”

“I mean if they don’t like it, it probably wasn’t any good.” Richie mumbles.

“ _What_? That bit about the perfume was fucking hysterical!” Steve blanches and turns to Maggie. “This guy made up this whole story of him blacking out in high school and drinking a bottle of perfume and not realizing it was that until he fucking downed the whole thing!”

Maggie’s brow furrows at that. “You remember _that?_ ” 

“What?” Richie cocks an eyebrow.

“ _What?!”_ Steve echoes, eyes widening. “That _happened?_ I thought you were just pulling shit out of your ass for a good story. 

“Yeah, Richie did that in high school. Went had to hold him over the toilet for hours while he threw up and we both wondered why he smelled like women’s cologne and then… one of his friends told us what he _did_.”

“God that was a night!” Went snorts, entering the room after finally rousing from their not-so-quiet kitchen discussion. “Oooo, sushi.” He gleams, busting open a box of the sashimi and pouring himself more soy sauce than probably necessary. 

“I don’t remember that… I don't think.” Richie admits, face going ashy as he swallows thickly. Just the tidbits of the story are enough to turn his stomach. 

Maggie rubs a soothing hand between his shoulder blades. Richie visibly focuses on not losing the few bits of sushi he’s put away. “It was a long time ago, honey. Don’t worry about it. It was a funny story though.”

Steve nods in earnest. “I think it’s awesome you are capable of remembering something from your teens.” That sets him off and Richie quickly excuses himself to the bathroom. Went follows, offering a sheepish smile to the others.

Guilt flickers in Steve’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make him...I just always found it so weird that he didn’t remember much of his childhood and he always gets like… _this_ when we talk about it. I thought we were making progress. I didn’t mean—”

Maggie shakes her head. “Sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” She has to be quick on her feet because she can’t exactly tell Richie’s manager that some sadistic clown has it out for her son and he suffered from immediate amnesia the minute they moved from Maine. Luckily, she’s quick on her feet and is able to utilize a more rational reason for Richie’s odd amnesiac tendencies. “Richie was brutally attacked after graduating high school and it kind of messed up his memory as he had a severe concussion.”

“Oh my God. I had no idea.” Steve gapes.

“He doesn’t either, really. Richie doesn’t remember it even happening but it’s best to not overwhelm him too much about it because well,” She nods in the direction of the half-bath where they can hear Richie groaning into the toilet bowl.

Steve nods in understanding. “Thanks for telling me that, Maggie.” 

“It’s no problem.” She sighs and elects to divert their attention back to the original subject. “So his writing team sounds like shit.” 

“They are.” Steve agrees earnestly. “Richie obviously has zero self esteem and will listen to anyone but himself or anyone that cares about him beyond a fucking paycheck.”

“He’s always been like that.” She sighs. “Is the stuff they’re making him act out any good?”

“I mean some of it is kind of funny but honestly? It’s nothing compared to what Richie _slaved_ over these last several months.” He says, exasperated. “Everything they’re giving him is pretty fucking sexist and aggressive heteros—” His jaw snaps shut. 

Maggie cocks a brow at him, a gentle smile cast upon her face.

“Oh, do you… do you know?” His brows fly upward in shock

Maggie cannot help but chuckle to herself. “Of course, I know. I’ve always known.”

“Does Richie know that you know?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “When he was younger, yes. But after,” she jazzes her hands about as if indicating to the tragic past of her son, “he fell into some sort of fucked up denial and developed some rather severe internalized homophobia.”

“God, you’re telling _me._ I’ve been trying to work with him on this since I first met him. He’s better about it in some ways, but for the most part, the idea of _anyone_ realizing that Richie Tozier is capable of loving someone of the same sex and not just being a douchebag to the millions of woman he’s _never_ slept with? Out of the question.”

Maggie sighs dejectedly. “Thank you for being so supportive of him and at least _trying_ to give him a voice.”

“It’s nothing, really.” Steve smiles to himself. “Even if we weren’t together, I’d help him. He’s a good person and I hope he realizes that eventually.”

“You and me both, honey.” Maggie agrees. “How’s he been doing?” She asks, making herself her own plate of sushi.

“He’s been really stressed out lately.” Steve admits with a sad breath of air. “I think he’s kinda depressed too—which is why I thought the tour might be good for him when he first suggested it to me.”

Maggie processes this and cannot help but agree. Richie was never one to be content doing the same thing all the time and while SNL was a dream job for him and still _is,_ doing that and only that with a handful of smaller roles in films cannot be enough to satisfy someone as hungry for stimulation as Richie so often is. 

“He has always had a propensity for depression and getting him to get help and admit to it has been rough for him, I think.” She informs Steve, hoping he will utilize that information to the best of his ability as a manager and “secret” boyfriend.

“I’m hoping we manage to work out something for him.” He sighs as Went and Richie reenter the kitchen, having finished their stint in the bathroom, the smell of Listerine heavy on Richie’s person. “You okay?”

He nods unconvincingly. “Yeah, I think I just put too much wasabi on it.” 

“Probably.” Steve pats his back comfortingly, placing a bottle of water in his shaking hands. 

“So, can we hear some of what those assholes are making you perform?” Went presses, returning back to his plate of sushi, his appetite not at all deterred by the sight of his son yacking in the bathroom. 

“Uh, sure.” Richie says, wiggling with uncertainty as he clears his throat. “I think this is one of the middle parts that one of the guys wrote for me. I don’t know if I want to, uh, share anything _I_ added to the act yet.” He picks nervously at his fingers. “I want those to be a surprise for you guys.”

“Oh!” Steve darts over to Richie’s backpack and fumbles through it before pulling out two brightly colored tickets. “We already got you tickets and backstage passes to the L.A. show.” 

“Aw, you didn’t need to do that. We wanted to support you and buy our own.” Maggie says, taking the two from Steve. Pride for her son surges in her chest as she reads **Richie Tozier Presents: IT GETS WORSE!** on the top of the tickets.

“What? We did our job.” Went teases, his mouth full. 

“We are still going to surprise you at a random show or two and actually _buy_ our own tickets.”

“You know on tour, the show is almost a total repeat the whole time with only a few jokes changed out and obviously alterations considering any hecklers, right?” Richie raises a brow at them.

“Yes, but it will be worth seeing this face more than once.” Maggie snickers, pinching his stubbly cheek, eliciting a dramatic groan from her son. “You trying to grow a beard, honey?”

“I sure hope not.” Steve mumbles.

“No, just been busy.” Richie chuckles feebly. “Alright, uh lemme see if I got this.” He scans his memory for the best way to present the joke without relying on any preceding bits and delivers the spectacularly offensive and extremely sexist joke with remarkable ability but a visible uneasiness in consideration to the subject matter. 

Maggie can _see_ where it may be funny to a particular audience—specifically a “dudebro” audience that doesn’t believe in fundamental human rights for anyone that is anything other than white, rich, and straight and full of guys that Maggie would never trust her drink around. The only real comedic part, to her, of this particular piece is Richie’s delivery and ability to tell a story with exaggerated facials and goofy body language.

Richie fidgets, obviously uncomfortable with the joke himself. “I, uh, it probably needs a little reworking on my end, but—”

“No,” Went starts, “Your delivery is absolutely phenomenal. It’s just the joke itself is completely tasteless. We raised you better than that, I’d like to think.”

“I-I don’t _agree_ with the joke.” Richie quickly defends, hands starting to tremble. “I don’t even _like_ it. I’m just… I need to do what they want and this was probably the least offensive one I chose to keep in the act.”

“He’s not lying, there.” Steve supplies.

“Maybe you should consider a different writing team, Richie.” Maggie rubs his shoulder. “Just because _you_ know it’s wrong doesn’t mean your audience won’t know that.”

“I know.” He sighs, defeated. “I just, I want to perform _my_ stuff, but no one is gonna like that.”

“Richie, I’m sure what you have is better than _this._ ” Went informs him. “Tell us the joke they made you take out about the perfume.”

“Okay,” Richie laughs, his face brightening. “Some of this is obviously fabricated but I guess, some of it is true according to you guys.” Maggie gives an encouraging grin. He centers himself and takes a calming breath.

“I’m depressed. I keep things very bottled up and I _don’t_ drink _that_ much, which is _not_ what you’re supposed to do when you’re extremely depressed and a comedian. I don’t but I _used_ to and then I drank too much and I had to stop as much as I, someone with zero impulse control, was willing to. That surprises a lot of audiences because I don’t look like someone who used to do anything. I look like I was just sitting in a room in a chair eating saltines for like thirty years and walked right out here…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I lose track of how I wanted to continue this chapter, get angry, and deleted about 4.7k words and decide to end it where I just did? YEP. I AM NOT IN A GOOD PLACE IN REGARDS TO WRITING RN AND IT FUCKING SHOWS. idk. Im really iffy about breaks because my last "break" went for 7 years and now anytime I take one like I did for moving and for my trip, it's very obvious I forget how to do anything and I fuck up but I gotta write and post something otherwise I will indulge my quitter tendencies so yeah. I am sorry for that really weird ending place?
> 
> I definitely struggled a lot with this and just got frustrated a lot along the way. I am kinda irritated by how this one came about and I just had to bust it out honestly and deal with whatever came out or I was gonna get in a shittier mindset and I AM TRYNA PRACTICE BEING NICE TO MYSELF so i just had to stop and just say fuck this story so here we are I guess? The pacing is difficult for me and just writing in general makes me tweaked out.
> 
> Also I know you can be straight and content in making out with the same sex. For Richie, however, there is no way he is not 10000% excited to make out with Paul Rudd, Seth Myers, and James Franco. I am not trying to insinuate anything about anyone or pretend all gay people like games of tonsil hockey. They don't. Richie just likes men with dark hair, are shorter than him, and have thick eyebrows. So yes. He is content swapping spit on SNL. IF YA DONT KISS THE HOMIES BEFORE BED OR SNUGGLE YOUR FRIENDS REGARDLESS OF YA SEXUALITY OR THEIR GENDER IDENTITY, YA NOT REAL FRIENDS IM SORRY. idk maybe that's just me. 
> 
> "It Gets Worse" is 100000% from John Mulaney's new in town (i'm new in town and iT GETS WORSE) because despite the fact that Mulaney kind of exists in this universe, Richie's stand up would pretty much me what Mulaney does with a mix of Bo Burnham because the idea of Richie singing Art is Dead is stuck in my head and will definitely be a thing in a LATER tour. :) 
> 
> Pumpkin Spice Lattes return on August 26th and I can't wait???? 
> 
> Writing this to Taylor Swift's new album? HITS DIFFERENT.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the sweet welcome back comments on the last one, my dudes! :) I very much appreciate it! You are all way too kind to my ass. I hope to get back on a normal writing schedule and fall back into a decent rhythm in order to finish this monster. I think we are heading toward the home stretch? 
> 
> gasp
> 
> This will go several years past 2016 and will most likely go past 2020, but I AM GONNA PRETEND COVID DONT IMPACT THE PLAN I HAD FOR THE PLOT OF THIS STORY bc fuck you there's a fuckin alien clown that eats kids in this story. Do you really expect me to stay with reality? Fuck outta here with that realistic bullshit.
> 
> I am a little iffy about this one because wow? Another filler chapter with maybe 3 pieces of interesting content? More likely than you think. -finger guns- I hope it's okay though? I had a lot of issues starting up random bits and making it flow together and Idk. I'm still in a weird brain fog so all the weird errors that are definitely there and the muck-ups... I apologize for.
> 
> I wrote this listening to Places We Won't Walk by Bruno Major and it just kinda fit the solemn vibe of Richie's dreadfully depressing existence imo. oooof. he is the epitome of sad clown and I just think it's so interesting that all the Losers are like objectively successful people but are still super mcfuckin sad (except Stan who had his babylove, Patty).
> 
> TW for more discussions of depression and general mental health issues

Maggie knew Richie was once again, losing himself.

**February 2013**

Richie’s bits that had been initially rejected, ended up doubling them all over with side-stitching laughter. His delivery, while decent in whatever joke he was making, was so much more funny and just so authentically _Richie_ and all Maggie could wonder whilst composing herself from her embarrassing snorty laughter, was what kind of idiots had Richie hired to be part of his team when he had someone as supportive as Steve by his side. Their reactions alone prompted Richie to realize that he should fight for himself and it led to him negotiating with the aforementioned (disaster) writing and production team since Richie, ultimately, would be the key to any monetary success the tour could possibly generate.

He made it abundantly clear that he was not in the slightest bit comfortable with the plethora of sexist and overall, offensive commentary they’d woven through most of their jokes and he didn't want to present himself as a complete manwhore with zero respect for the women he (never) slept with. It just wasn’t _him_ and Richie himself did not respect anyone who approved of such jokes. 

After far too many sleepless nights where Richie was horribly overwhelmed and Maggie was often his long-distance shoulder to cry on via a multitude of post-writing-sob-sessions on skype, they managed to find a middle ground where nearly the entire show would be based on all of Richie’s own material and only a smattering of the filler jokes were from the more respectable and P.C. members of Richie’s writing team. It wasn’t something Richie had felt completely certain with and had as he did with anything, lacked confidence in—especially since the entire show which had sold out for nearly every single venue after the announcement had been made on January 1st, had finished all tweakings just _two_ days before the first show to kick off the entire _It Gets Worse_ tour. 

The tour ended up going better than anticipated and warranted an influx in Richie’s general fanbase for many people picked up on his comedy through choppy clips posted across social media and immediately fell for his ability to tell a story, goofy body language, and of course, his dorky, yet lovable personality. The clips that were posted across the web did not go unnoticed and someone from Netflix took notice of his act and ended up signing a deal with him to have one of his two Chicago shows (he was to be there twice for there was such a high demand for people to see Richie that they ended up adding more tour dates) taped and put on the streaming service after his tour was officially complete in April. 

He had to edit some of the show specifically for the recording as it had to be something special in comparison to what he did at every other venue, but he managed to maintain his usual Tozier persona and delivered something incomprehensibly funny for the dudes back at Netflix. 

With such positive feedback and so many other career opportunities coming his way, Maggie had been convinced that whatever funk Richie had spiralled into would be done by now as his success was very obvious and he _should_ feel proud of himself for accomplishing so much in the last year. Unfortunately, this was not the case. She soon realized this after coming to surprise him at his Vegas show, just a week before he was supposed to see her and Went at the L.A. show that Steve had given them tickets for. 

The show itself was hilarious and she could not help but beam proudly as she watched him from nosebleed seats as he had the crowd in the palm of his hands throughout the entirety of the show. _That_ was her son—her son who had battled the demons of addiction, suffered from a peculiar case of amnesia, and was riddled with crippling self doubt on the best of days— making all those people laugh and showcasing the talent he’s always denied having as he struts across stage with an awkward gait, attempting to explain why he was stunned about the lack of encounters he’d had with quicksand thus far in his adult life. With the help of Steve, she and Went managed to get backstage to wait in Richie’s dressing room while he finished up his post show meet-and-greet. 

Steve slips into the room, the chatter loud behind him. “Alright, so Rich should be done in about fifteen minutes.” He informs, clapping his hands together, appearance marginally disheveled as the business that a tour in conjunction with regularly scheduled career activities must be immensely overwhelming for a manager.

Steve is usually a very put together man with freshly-pressed suits that are always significantly more tailored and flattering than the monkey ones Richie wears which are often too baggy around his torso and too short in length around his bony ankles which he often ignores and utilizes the lack of length in order to showcase the loudly printed socks that look like something from a 90s movie theater carpet that he enjoys wearing. But right now, Steve’s hair is slightly tousled, suit jacket unbuttoned to reveal a mildly wrinkled button-down, and a love bite that is just barely concealed with a foundation that is a shade or two too light for the shorter man. 

“Can I get you guys anything while you wait?” He asks but the stress in his eyes indicates that he is hoping they do not want _anything_ while they wait. 

So Maggie says, “No thank you, hon.” She rubs a comforting hand over his tense shoulder. “Thank you so much and get some rest tonight, alright?”

“Thanks for everything, really.” Went tells him.

Steve offers a tired grin. “It’s no problem. I’ll probably see you guys soon.” He turns toward the door. “I better make sure Richie isn’t too held up and actually remembers to sanitize in between hand-shakes so he doesn’t get sick or something right before the L.A. show.” He shuffles out of the dressing room, giving a swift wave goodbye as he shuts the door behind him.

“Don’t say it.” Maggie demands as the door clicks shut and they each settle themselves on the plush couch pushed up against a wall on the far side of the room.

“What?!” Went scoffs, a grin already teasing the corners of his laugh-lined mouth.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She grumbles.

“Which means that you are also thinking it, Mageline.” He teases, wrapping an arm around her.

She narrows her eyes at him. “Hush up.” She spits halfheartedly. 

“Totally another Eddie Kaspbrak.” Went whispers in a sing-song voice just high enough to filter through her ears that are still ringing from the booming applause Richie received after his final bow. 

She smacks him on the bicep. “I said not to say it! They’re happy and you’re making fun of them over a boyfriend he doesn’t even remember.” Her stomach jolts a tad at that and while it’s been just about twenty years since they’ve seen Eddie, a special place in her heart is still reserved for the boy who spoke in cursive and cared for her son in a way that she’s not sure anyone can quite match up to. 

It is an unfair bar to hold. She knows this. It is completely and utterly unjust of her to hold all of Richie’s (secret) boyfriends up to the same level of someone her son cannot even remember but had once cherished with all his life. However, she cannot pretend that Richie has ever looked at anyone, no matter how much they proved themselves to be a worthy significant other, quite as longingly as he had with Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie would perhaps never know it, but he would never be as romantically and emotionally fulfilled with anyone other than what Maggie believed to be his forgotten soulmate. 

“I was merely making an observation of our son’s taste.” He chuckles. “There’s a consistency there— am I wrong?”

“You are a menace.” Maggie huffs, laying her head against his chest as they wait patiently for their son. 

“I won’t disagree.” Went acknowledges. “But you never said I was wrong.”

“Shut up, you shit head.”

Went laughs heartily beneath her but says nothing in retaliation, electing to instead stroke his fingers through her curly hair. 

She feels as if she could nearly doze under his warm touch but is quickly jolted out of her blissful state as the door swings open to reveal her son, mumbling incoherently to himself as he rakes his fingers through his hair (which she wants to scold him for because it’s obvious that his hair is definitely not getting any thicker at his age and such friction is not healthy for one’s hairline) before noticing his parents on the couch before him. His eyes go comically wide behind his glasses and he steps toward them as they stand up to hug him in their open arms.

“Hey!” he giggles feebly and Maggie is not too happy to feel the slight protrusion of ribs from under his suit jacket as she hugs him tightly. “You guys realize I was gonna see you _next_ week for a _free_ show, right?”

“We already told you we were gonna surprise you at one of your shows so here we are.” Went gestures toward them. “And your mom wanted us to support you by paying for at least one show even though we supported you by giving you life, teaching you to walk, making sure you didn’t die from hot tamales shoved up your no—”

“Okay, okay, enough. Though, I might have to consider running that story by the writers” Richie snorts. “I appreciate it but you guys didn’t have t—”

“We _wanted_ to.” Maggie ushers, her smile faltering as she takes in his appearance now that she’s no longer watching him as a small figure running around the stage from the balcony seats but up close, with the ability to take in every detail of his exhausted face. 

His eyes are visibly concealed with a heavy heaping of concealer that has started to smudge away with the friction of his glasses to reveal the tint of bags that are certainly a ghastly purple beneath the thin layer that remains coated upon the skin. There is a rather depressing slump to his shoulders as if the weight of the world sits upon him as he stands before his parents. She could tell he’d lost weight simply from the hug he’d given her but it’s more obvious in the gauntness of his face where the cheekbones that were already a tad sharper last spring are much more pronounced, especially in the harsh lighting of the dressing room. The smile he gives them does not quite reach his weary eyes and is most obviously strained. 

She cannot help but notice that for someone whose career relies on making others laugh, he has a startling lack of smile lines around his mouth. 

“I really appreciate it.” Richie says tiredly. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Of course. We wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Maggie moves his shaggy hair out of his tired face. 

“Except maybe some gambling on the strip.” Went chortles more so to himself than to Richie and her. 

“Did you, uh like it?” He asks insecurely, shedding off the suit jack and undoing the top buttons of his undershirt. 

“Oh my God,” Went chuckles, “It was _so_ good Richie.”

“We couldn’t stop laughing the entire time.” Maggie adds in earnest. “I am _so_ glad you decided to put your own stuff in there instead of the _shit_ they had set for you.”

“Yeah, me too.” He responds rather unenthusiastically, slumping down in the seat in front of his vanity table.

“You good, Rich?” Went furrows his brows, placing a hand upon Richie’s visibly tense shoulder.

“I’m just really worn out.” He admits and that is a shock to Maggie. It’s usually like pulling teeth with her son in order to get him to admit that he’s anything less than one-hundred percent. He rubs his hands beneath glasses, causing them to precariously bobble upon his fingertips as he furiously rubs at his tired eyes. He brings his hands back down to his mouth, glasses slipping back down and magnifying his eyes which are now bloodshot and glistening as a film of tears waiting to spill, sits upon the surface. “It’s been… just a lot lately.” He mumbles, voice choked at the end of his sentence. 

“Oh honey,” Maggie starts and that’s just enough to push Richie off the edge as his tremors shake his shoulders and as tears roll down his sallow cheeks. She quickly wraps her arms around him, as he trembles in the rickety chair. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been doing so much. I can’t even imagine how hard all of this has been on you.”

“I’m just so tired all the time.” He chokes out and God does that pathetic sound hurt Maggie’s entire being. He really is stretching himself so thin and Maggie had wrongly believed he would have somehow found a sense of confidence and euphoria in that he was being celebrated from doing his very own thing for once. But that was clearly not the case. 

She knew he was happy to do what he did for a living but there came a point where everything really was too much and Richie was never known for his ability to adequately bear the weight of multiple responsibilities without over exerting himself or taking note of his own mental state before stretching himself so painfully thin. Now, he was very clearly overworking himself and on the verge of leaving himself as nothing more than a burnt out artist in his mid-thirties. 

“Oh, Richie.” She whispers to him, resting her cheek atop of his head as he nestles his head upon her collarbone much like he often did as a child. “I’m so sorry.”

“I just feel like shit all the fucking time and I never feel not tired and it’s just so frustrating to do all this city after city thing along with SNL and all these fucking auditions and table reads and I should be happy but I just feel like I’m being pulled apart on all sides and I d-don’t think I can do it anymore.”

Went rubs a soothing hand between his shoulder blades as he finishes his tearful rant in Maggie’s arms and in the midst of his attempt to comfort their son, Went has to make some levity of the situation, “Well, you can’t keep burning the candle at both ends, tall child.”

That manages to muster a wet laugh from their son, his shoulders still quaking from the fit of hysteria he’d broken down into. It was evident that such a breakdown had been long overdue and he had most likely anticipated having the dressing room to himself to grant himself some privacy for his overflowing emotions but of course, being (in Richie’s eyes, over) involved parents, Maggie and Went could not grant their son such a luxury and had to be present to witness the crack in the mask he’d been wearing for a majority of his life. 

Richie sniffles, sloppily wiping away the tears still trailing down his cheeks. “Easier said than done.” 

“I’m sure it is, honey.” Maggie sighs. “Is there any possible way to reschedule part of the tour or maybe some auditions or take off from SNL for the rest of the season?”

“I mean, yeah. I just… I don’t… I don’t wanna do that.” He removes his glasses, blinking with wide eyes as he attempts to see through the blurry world to wipe away some of the smudged makeup and tears that somehow managed to creep onto the lenses. Went takes over this particular duty by plucking the glasses from their son’s hands and cleaning them with his own lens wipes stowed away in the front pocket of his pants. 

“Why’s that?” She inquires, already knowing the answer.

“It would feel like quitting, I guess.” He admits. “I don’t want to look like I’m incompetent so no one ever hires me again.”

“You wouldn’t.” Maggie reassures. “You’re doing _so_ much right now.”

“Yeah and all of _this_ is pretty standard for anyone in my field.” Richie laughs bitterly. “They just get through because they’re all on fucking coke and shit.”

“You’re not—”

“No, dad.” Richie snaps, accepting his glasses and sliding them back over his face. “I’m not doing drugs again and no I don’t have any _urge_ to, so don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Richie, don’t be a dick.” Maggie scolds.

“Well you kinda decided I was a dick when you named me.” He defends, offering an apologetic smile. 

She raises an eyebrow. 

“I know.” Richie sighs. “I know you guys just care and I wouldn’t do that. I’m sorry.” 

“I’ll let it slide on account of the name pun.” Went shrugs, putting an arm around Richie’s shoulders. “You can’t beat yourself up so much over this kinda shit, Dickard. If you need a break, which you do, you gotta take one.” 

“I _can’t_ take one.” Richie grumbles. “I mean it’s _almost_ over and it’ll be better after that, I think.”

“You really think so?” Maggie asks in a non-accusatory tone. She doesn't want to doubt that her son knows how to care for himself nor does she want him to believe that he is not capable of more-than-sufficiently executing all of the job offers he’s taken in the last year. Nevertheless, Richie is not the pinnacle of time management nor the pinnacle of self-care and lacking in those two departments, as the most recent explosive break in his facade can demonstrate, rarely yields in adequate results. 

“I mean,” Richie sighs, defeat bleeding into his tone. “I was thinking… I mean I kind of already discussed it with Lorne… but um I’m pretty sure this is my last season on SNL and I’ll be done with the show in May.”

Maggie blinks in surprise. _That_ was not what she was expecting to hear in the slightest. Frankly, she was not certain as to what she was expecting. Richie was often unpredictable in his strives for self-care which his idea of such a concept was simply sleeping for a minimum of twelve hours in a single sitting and eating cheap take-out food that would have him calling her hours later to find out what over-the-counter medicine was best for an upset stomach. 

“Really?” She processes. 

She’s also somewhat saddened by the idea of no longer being able to witness her son on TV every single weekend, playing as her most favorite role, Stefon whilst (supposedly) acting as if he is always gazing hungrily at one Seth Myers. However, she sees the uncertainty in Richie’s eyes but she also sees the exhaustion and the stress and the hurt he carries in his entire body and she knows that this is perhaps the most mature and healthiest decision Richie could have ever made for himself.

“Yeah.” He responds, head bowed as he wipes away more tears that have managed to slip through his lashes. 

She and Went each offer him an encouraging smile.

“I’m proud of you.” She tells him. 

Went ruffles his hair to which Richie squawks indignantly at, mumbling something about how he’s too old for that kind of shit. 

She knows he’ll continue to prove himself in other facets of entertainment, as he is already doing so each and everyday but she isn’t certain whether or not leaving the show is the only thing Richie needs right now. She is entirely aware that there is so much more hurt in her son that is so frequently swept under the rug and aggressively repressed by himself that Maggie feels that there really is no way of truly uncovering Richie at his fullest potential.

xXx

**April 2015**

Leaving SNL does seem to be the answer for a lot of Richie’s problems. Richie’s finale on the show ended up being the first time Maggie and Went had gone to watch the show live in New York. Richie finished on a high note, completing his time on the show with a rather funny and quite dramatic finale of Stefon finally running off to marry Seth Myers and bidding a tearful farewell during the credits where he’d been unable to contain his emotion as he hugged each of his co-stars and gave his final goodbyes to the camera. 

It had been a difficult step for him to make but after just a month of not stressing over rehearsals and planning and writing for the show, it was quite evident that leaving SNL had alleviated some of the overwhelmed feelings he’d been burdened with and removed the excruciating weight he’d shouldered for far too long. It also opened the door for him in terms of the types of roles he auditioned for. Sure, he was still most frequently sought out by producers and casting agents for roles that required a high-quality impressionist or a gawky-looking funny-man, but there were other roles that stretched beyond the horizon of comedy once he left the studio on Rockefeller Plaza for the last time as a full-time, regular cast member. 

He is cast in roles where his name is _actually_ on the movie poster and that is something that Maggie knows that Richie cannot help but flash his feathers at even if he wants to maintain his usual sense of (extremely high) humility that borders on total self deprecation. Actually, that’s an understatement. It almost _always_ is full blown self deprecation.

He voices the main character for the sequel of _Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs_ which had been one of his hit roles in voice acting in ‘09. Maggie and Went, as excited parents, go and see the movie at least a dozen times in theaters even though a majority of the target audience is six-year-olds that just like to screech with laughter over the ridiculous and extremely punny humor, barely paying any mind to the nasally voice behind Flint Lockwood’s character. Richie sends her and Went selfies on a regular basis from the recording studio and it is quite clear that he has a rather fun time portraying the role and he even sends a clip (which would definitely have warranted punishment from the studio had it gotten out or he’d been caught) of him voicing the character and she cannot help but notice the glow of excitement and genuine childlike joy he holds in his expression whilst acting out a scene where Flint panics about a leek in the boat which doesn’t quite make sense to Maggie or Went until they saw the film and were able to appreciate the visual pun more appropriately. 

Continuing his streak as a voice actor for children’s movies, Richie goes on to voice Fear in Pixar’s _Inside Out._ Maggie and Went didn’t know a whole lot about this movie before seeing it, but they were just absolutely mesmerized by their son’s ability to somehow enter his way into the Walt Disney company with his… _interesting_ career history. She and Went had actually gotten to see the movie (for the first of many times) during the premiere in L.A. It had certainly been one of Richie’s largest and most luxurious film events seeing as it was a Disney movie. He’d been given a purple car to drive up to the carpet in order to match his character and he’d been dressed to the nines in a suit specifically tailored to his gangly physique by a designer with a name he did not recognize but Maggie and Went remembered all too well. 

After the premiere, Maggie had waited until they got back to the car that Richie would have to give back to the rental company in the morning to shove him for she was definitely not over Bing Bong’s death and she made _that_ abundantly clear as she situated herself in the passenger seat while Went stretched his legs out in the back. 

“I wasn’t even in that scene, mom.” Richie had whined. 

“Well you could have warned me that this wanna going to be another fucking _Up_ situation all over again.”

“Only like _one_ scene.” Richie scoffed, a smile visible in the darkness of the car. “Did you at least pay any attention to _my_ character?” 

“Of course, you moron.” Maggie had laughed. “It felt like a proper match for you.”

“ _What?”_ Richie blanched. “I am _not_ Fear!” 

“Ok, Richard.” Went snickered from the backseat. 

“I’m _not._ If Joy was a guy, I’d have been Joy!” Richie had insisted, punctuating his statement with a swift hit to the steering wheel. 

Maggie had simply shook her head, not wanting to remind her son that he, despite the front he had and the lies he told through his crooked teeth (from discontinuing the use of his retainer far too early after treatment) so often that he sometimes believed them, lived his entire existence in a constant state of fear. It was funny in some aspects of his life, sure. He got fidgety over minute things like telling the barista at Starbucks that he hadn’t asked for almond milk and was deathly allergic to nuts and would inform them of such information after stabbing himself in the thigh with an epipen in their bathroom as his throat nearly closed shut. 

However, other things, like his openness in regards to his sexuality and general happiness were often thwarted by the fear that inhabited his system on a daily basis. That was not something she wanted to remind him of after what should be a happy occasion as it was obvious that _Inside Out_ was going to be a great success for a multitude of audiences—and Maggie knew she’d probably go see the movie several more times with Went just to support their son. 

Her favorite role that he’d taken since leaving SNL, however, had been Milo Dean in _The Skeleton Twins._ It was a role that was so unlike anything else she’d seen Richie do. Sure, Milo was funny in his own dark and bitter way, but it wasn’t the corny, vulgar, and overt humor that Richie was often required to perform in the movies he was usually cast for. It was something she’d yearned to see him perform as she knew Richie’s capabilities as an actor. 

Watching him play someone that was just so hungry for success and who was so insecure in where they’d ended up just felt so raw and so akin to how Richie tended to view himself—for he wasn’t aware of his tendencies to engage in Milo-esque behaviors and thinking in spite of the visible amount of successes he’d accumulated. What truly caught Maggie’s eye when watching the film for the very first time was the Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us scene. She’d genuinely felt as if she was having some sort of out-of-body experience whilst watching the scene pan out for she knew she’d scene a similar sequence of events with the same exact dance moves unfold in a slightly more chaotic manner in her living room when her son was still a gangly teenager that was attempting to make one of his best friend’s smile in her time of need. 

For obvious reasons, Maggie could not express her emotional attachment to that particular scene by informing her son that he had simply executed a dance in the film that he probably still had ingrained in his subconscious memory from the many moments he’d performed it down in the Clubhouse with Beverly Marsh much to the annoyance of his forgotten Losers. 

Based on the misty eye look Richie often got when talking about the role, Maggie knew it was definitely her son’s all-time favorite movie that he’d starred in thus far. It wasn’t some big blockbuster hit that really brought in the Benjamins for him like some of the animated features or comedies he’d done but it was a film he’d helped in writing and the character he played, according to him, just felt oddly personal to him for some reason. Unbeknownst to his amnesiac mind, _that_ really made sense to Maggie when she really analyzed Milo’s character. Milo was just a darker, more “tragic gay cliche” version of her son.

Maggie could not have been more proud of her son as he continued to prove himself in the industry as someone who could continue to find work without relying on SNL as a fallback—something she knew that Richie had feared upon leaving the show. However, as the success continued to encompass her son, coming to him in all facets of life, the pleasure and joy he felt in performing seemed to come to a steady halt once more. This time, however, the unhappiness was not generated from the anxiety and stress that had been produced by an over-packed schedule. No, this time it was induced by numbing, exhaustive, and dark depression that seemed to appear out of nowhere when it sunk it’s claws into his vulnerable brain. 

Maggie had suspected there was something deeply wrong with her son when their phone calls became more strained and the laughs he mustered up were entirely disingenuous. It was obvious he was suffering from such a horrifically silent disease when he finally answered her first Facetime call in weeks and Maggie immediately noticed one thing about him.

“You’re drunk.” Maggie declares as she can see the tint of pink around the lids of glassy eyes and the angry flush rising on his neck. His mouth is loose and she can see the half drained bottles scattered on the kitchen counter in the background. Went halts his own bustling when he hears the very blunt accusation and stumbles over the freshly mopped tile to take in the rather haggard appearance of their son.

Richie cocks an eyebrow. “Alrighty then.” He huffs around a laugh. “I thought you wanted to hear the shit about this movie I’m doing.” And she had. He’s supposed to co-star in a comedy with Amy Schumer where he’s to play a doctor and her love interest. She’d been rather excited to hear about the role and what he’d done for it so far, but now such feelings were eradicated and replaced with ones of concern. 

“I _did_ when you were supposed to call me about it two weeks ago.” Maggie states and Went whistles lowly. It’s not too often that Maggie loses her cool with Richie. 

“Okay, well I’ve been busy.” Richie grumbles, finishing off the mixed drink he had previously tried to hide from view of his laptop camera. 

“Doing _this_?” Went asks.

“You guys know I drink again.” Richie slurs. “It’s not like I’m doing anything else.”

“Yeah, we know you drink socially.” Maggie argues, balling up her fists as worry surges through her veins. “ _This,_ being drunk in your home all by yourself? That’s concerning, Richie. That’s _extremely_ concerning.”

“Mom, you realize I’m almost forty.” Yes, she’s more than aware of that fact and she hates it because not only is her son getting older but damn, she’s getting pretty fucking old too. _Thank you for that friendly reminder of mortality, Richard,_ she thinks to herself bitterly _._ ” I’m fine.” 

“You don’t look it.” He doesn’t. Even past the drunken glow—a phrase Maggie never understood for the only “glow” a drunk person gets is the inevitable sweat that creates a sheen over their brow and the redness to their cheeks and neck— she can see the sunken appearance of his cheeks and the exhaustion in his glossy eyes. He’s sporting a rather itchy looking attempt at a beard and he is in desperate need of a haircut. 

“Thanks, mom. I _love_ to hear that.” He glowers back.

“Richie,” She sighs. “I’m worried about you.”

“You always are and I know you’re always going to be.” Richie answers solemnly. 

She cannot help but chuckle at that . “You’re right about that, yes. But, right now I just… you don’t look good and I can tell you’re not feeling that great either especially since you’re drunk all by yourself right now.”

“Is Steve around?” Went asks.

The drop in Richie’s face is telling enough and Maggie’s sense of irritation for her son’s antics is quickly replaced with sympathy.

“I… he...um…” Richie swallows thickly. “He moved out.” 

Code for: _“We broke up because Steve could no longer handle being one of my dirty little secrets that I would only hold hands with in empty rooms, kiss behind closed doors, and love when I was sure that no one was looking.”_

Like Jason, Maggie could not blame Steve in the slightest. She would have to check up on the other man after she was done talking to her son. They may not be together, but she wanted to ensure that he was not as far in the dumps as her son clearly was. 

“Oh honey,” Maggie starts.

“It’s fine.” He says around a wet-sounding laugh, the drunken high quickly replaced with a sadness that is only exasperated by the alcohol flowing in his system. Maggie knew it wasn’t fine. Steve, whether Richie could own up to it or not, meant the world to him. Even if they hadn’t been dating, Steve had been there for Richie for a lot of profound moments in his life. He stuck by him in the slow start of his career, held him close when the elderly Eduardo had to be put down at the vet, and comforted him anytime he wanted to drop everything and just quit as a result of the excruciating self-doubt that Richie experienced on a daily basis.

“He still represents me so I’m not entirely fucked, I guess.” He rubs at his face aggressively, attempting to compose the flow of emotion threatening to shatter the careless exterior he is desperately attempting to maintain. “Plenty of guys d-don’t live with their manager. It’s totally normal.”

Yeah, but most guys pushing their forties _did_ live with their significant other. She doesn’t say that, though. 

“When did this happen?” 

He sniffs. “Last month.” He grabs himself another drink to which Maggie wants to berate him incessantly for but she decides tomorrow’s hangover will be punishment enough and right now Richie doesn’t need a nagging mother but rather a supportive one. 

“I’m sorry, Rich.” She says with sincerity. “Is this… what’s making you so… depressed?”

He shrugs wordlessly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Richie, you know I—” Went squeezes her shoulder not ungently. She knows. This isn’t the time and place for confrontation or a discussion as heavy as _that_ would certainly entail. “I know you’re going through some shit right now and it’s okay to feel...” she has to use her words carefully “down. But, what’s not okay is letting it consume you without getting help. You know this. I know you do.”

“I’m just a washed up comic, huh?” He snorts.

“You know that’s not ture.” She continues. “I think you need to see a therapist again.”

He shrugs his shoulders without a word. That’s not a no. 

“I’m going on tour again.” He murmurs; an obvious subject change. 

“You are?” Her eyes go wide at that.

“That’s also… kinda why I haven’t been able to talk for a while.” Magige knows he was most likely mourning the loss of his relationship, but she can pretend, for Richie’s sake, that she believes that him planning the tour is the reason for his absence. 

“Well that’s exciting.” She exclaims. His expression is unchanging. “Isn’t it?”

“I’m not writing my own material this time.” He admits. “I’ve been trying to fight for it this whole time but I just… I couldn’t come up with anything and I just had like a constant writer’s block.” He sighs heavily. “I didn’t feel motivated to really try anyway, I guess.” 

“Oh, Rich,” Went sighs. “Do you think it’s a good idea to even go on tour then if you’re not feeling up to it?”

“I mean I wanted to do another tour and I’ve been planning on doing one again since I left SNL but there just wasn’t a good time for it.” 

“Well when does it start?” 

“January of next year.” He downs the rest of his drink with a groan. “Ends ‘round September.” 

“That gives you plenty of time to redo anything you don’t like, Rich.” Maggie reassures him. “You finished the last one literally two days before your first show.”

“I know, I just… I kinda wanna leave it in their hands this time mom.”

“Oh really? You really want to perform the sexist, homophobic bullshit they’re going to make you do?”

“No. You know I fucking don’t.” He hisses back, slamming his first on the table a tad too close to his keyboard for comfort. “I can’t fucking do anything right now and I don’t forsee that getting better anytime soon so I’ll just do whatever my writing team tells me to.”

“Doesn’t Steve—”

“Do you really think Steve gives a fuck about what I want right now? I’m just another one of his stupid clients and I’m not going to go begging him to help me get my way.” 

“Richie, you know he cares about you.”

“Yeah if he did he wouldn’t have left.” He spits acidicly.

“He has his reasons and you know why.”

“If you’re going to fucking side with him then I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Richard Wentworth Tozier, I am _not_ taking sides.” Maggie snaps. Went jolts next to her and Richie’s eyes go wide behind his glasses. Maggie is not one to get angry at Richie.

“You are drunk and sad and angry right now and that’s okay, I _guess_. But you need to get back in touch with reality, okay? You can’t do this kind of shit to yourself and expect everyone else to fix it for you. You’re almost forty and sometimes your mistakes have consequences. You should be more than aware of that by now and I’m sorry that this is happening to you, but you are not now or ever going to talk to me like that.”

Richie’s eyes fall downward, shame clear on his face. “I know. I’m sorry.” He looks back toward her face on the screen. “I really am. I’m just… I’m an asshole. I know.”

“You come by it honestly.” She says lightly, elbowing Went for some further easing of the tension she inadvertently created.

“Hey!” Went whines.

“I do.” Richie chuckles mirthlessly. 

“I mean it. You can try and fix it so you’re doing something _you_ wrote. I’m sure even if you and Steve aren’t as... _close_ as you were, he would be willing to fight for you.” Went informs him. 

Richie shrugs. “I guess. I just don’t feel like it honestly. I kinda just wanna do what they tell me to do and deal with whatever the consequences of _that_ is.”

“Are you really sure about that, Richie?” 

He shrugs. “Maybe? Maybe I can just quit then, because I know whatever they write is gonna make just about everyone hate me.”

“You don’t want that, Richie.” Maggie’s heart clenches at the defeat in his voice. He has always wanted _this—_ this life of success and making others laugh with the content he has worked so hard to formulate with his own spectacular creativity. To allow someone to overtake his career and potentially ruin it with jokes that are the antithesis of the values they instilled in him is just so disheartening and a true reflection of how much Richie is hurting right now. 

He is silent for an excessive amount of time, staring mindlessly at something behind the camera _—_ entranced almost. It’s quite unsettling and she and Went both call his name until he finally zones back in, blinking rapidly in a confused manner.

“Sorry.” He shakes his head and rubs his eyes. “I’ve probably had too much to drink.” 

She doesn’t doubt that but something in her mind, something more sinister and haunting believes there’s something else at play. “You sure you’re okay?”

He sighs. “I...I have to do a table read and some shit this week but… do you think… I could come there and see you guys for awhile _—_ just to get away from here for a bit?”

“Of course, Richie.” Maggie tells him, smiling weakly at him. It’s been far too long since she’s had him at home. Even when he was there for stand-up he elected to stay in a hotel downtown for it was easier for him and Steve to travel back home for rehearsals for the show.

“Stay as long as you need, Rich.” Went adds. 

“Thanks. It… it means a lot.” Richie leans back, wincing as his spine audibly cracks. “I think I should get to bed before I go _too_ off the rails, I guess. I’m sorry for being a shithead and I’ll see you guys soon and I’ll be sure to actually call sooner than later.”

“That would be much appreciated and Richie,” He looks back up, biting his lip nervously. “Please look into getting a therapist before you come and see us. Please.”

“I will.” He sounds genuine. “I love you.”

“We love you too.”

xXx

**June 2015**

Maggie did end up calling Steve not long after her conversation with Richie. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he held some unnecessary amount of guilt for breaking up with her son, but she had reassured him that he did what he needed to do and no one, under any circumstances, thought any less of him.

“I… I know he’s not handling it very well.” Steve had told her anxiously. “It hasn’t been easy for me either.”

“We’re aware.” She sighed. “He’s not doing as bad as he _could_ be doing. Trust me.”

“I know. It just feels like I caused this and maybe I should try to be more understanding of his situation and… I don’t know...I don’t wanna say put up with it, but—”

“ _That’s_ what it is, though.” Maggie told him. “You can’t love someone if they aren’t proud enough to say that they love you too. Yes, Richie is coming from a place of fear but you aren’t in that same place and I don’t like phrasing it this way, but you can’t stay with someone that is essentially holding you back in their same dark place. You can only do so much until it starts to hurt you too.”

“Thank you, Maggie.” Steve had sounded so relieved at her words.

“It’s nothing, Steve. We cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done for Richie and just the fact that you aren’t dropping him as your client and making an effort to stay his friend and be in his life, means the entire world to us and him.”

“I don’t think I could ever just drop Rich.” Steve had said earnestly. “He means a lot to me and I really do hope he finds someone who he isn’t afraid to love as loudly as he himself is.”

Richie has only ever loved one person as loudly and brightly and as enthusiastically as _he_ was and that was someone that Richie may never remember again. She did not tell Steve about that. Instead she told him, “I hope he does too.”

She really did for it was clear that Richie was in the throes of an intense depressive episode and she desperately wanted him to find something that helped him pull himself out of the pit of crushing sadness and demotivation and self-hatred. Having Richie as a son made her realize that the stereotype of comics being depressed was perhaps more scarily accurate than she liked to admit. 

However, her uneasiness pertaining to Richie’s present mental state was somewhat alleviated when she finally got to have him under her roof once more. He had booked a one way ticket to L.A. and initially she had believed that this was because he was taking an extended break from the entertainment scene but Richie decided to surprise her in the form of a print-out from Zillow that featured an image of an obscenely large, overly-gentrified home with an ocean-view in Malibu. 

“What is this?” She asked as he finished taking his suitcases up to what remained as his own bedroom for they rarely had any guests over. 

“Uh,” Richie laughed. “Well, a lot of my work is going to be centered in L.A. so… I decided that since I’m not living with Steve anymore… I would move back to California.” She did not respond immediately for the shock was quite electrifying. “Surprise?”

She stared at him and glanced at Went who was grinning devilishly across the room.

“ _You_ knew about this?” She points an accusatory finger at her husband.

“Well someone had to help nimrod here figure out how buying a home works.”

“What about all your stuff?!” She shrieks. She is excited about this news but it does feel rather impulsive but she really can’t expect much else out of her son. “When did you even decide to do _this?_ ”

“Well, I donated most of my stuff and I decided a month ago and bought the house in full about a week ago with dad’s help since I guess I’m a nimrod.” Richie shrugs. “You don’t sound too thrilled to have the light of your life back in the same state as you.” 

“You know I am!” She hisses back. “I just wish you would have told me so I could have been involved and not nearly sent into a heart attack. I am in my sixties, Richard. You can’t mess with me like this.”

Richie snickers at that. “Well you can feel like you’re reliving your young, glory days again by having your nearly forty-year-old son back under your roof again. How’s that sound, Magma?”

“You fucking asshole.” Maggie whimpers tearfully as she pulls him into a hug. “Just stay here with me. You don’t need that big stupid fucking mansion.”

“There’s a guest house.”

“Ocean view?”

“Mmhm.” 

“Alright, fine.” 

Richie cackles loudly at that and the smile teasing the corners of his mouth doesn’t quite meet his tired and sad eyes but it’s perhaps the most delightful sounds she’s heard in a while. 

xXx

Having Richie back under their roof, even if it is just for two months, proves to be a mixture of emotions for the three of them right off the bat. It is quite strange to have your grown ass child back at home and attempting to establish boundaries and rules without making them feel like they’re a child again. Sometimes Maggie feels like she’s going to turn around and see the same mop-headed thirteen year old when she notices that Richie has once again left his shoes in the middle of the floor causing her to nearly trip or when he starts arguing with Went over who is the culprit behind the toilet seat left up in the half bath. 

She does sometimes feel a sense of bliss being able to see that her Richie is in one piece and not off destroying himself all alone whilst drinking copious amounts of alcohol and wallowing around in an apartment too big for just him. She fears that will be the case once he moves into this mansion—but she supposes that’s the rich and famous way of living. She doesn’t want to ponder such depressing ideas right now when she has this short opportunity to have him so close to her again. 

Despite her desire to make this stay as fun and enjoyable as possible, it is easy to see that Richie is definitely not in the best mental state whatsoever. His mood, while sometimes high and cheery, is more often too mellow for someone as lively and animated as her son. He doesn’t eat nearly enough for her liking and whenever he’s not on a video call to do a virtual table read for _Trainwreck_ or discussing the tour (which Magige already despises the jokes for) with Steve and the rest of his ghastly writing team, he’s cooped up on the couch or in his room, sleeping an excessive amount. 

She longs to see him actually _living_ his life to some extent for she hates this shell that he’s become. It’s over breakfast one morning where she decides to finally say something for it is clear that Richie is not going to budge on the promise he’d made her months ago to seek out some mental help.

“I think you should find a therapist in Malibu.” Maggie says, spooning a bit of cinnamon oatmeal into her mouth.

Richie cocks an eyebrow at her, barely picking at his own bowl.

“You told us you would find some help back in April and now that you’re moving back here, we could probably help you find someone.” 

“I don’t think I need to see anyone.” Richie shrugs, turning his attention back to the news station, barely listening to the weather report but wanting nothing more than to avoid further confrontation. 

“I think you should, Rich.” Went chimes in, seating himself next to Maggie on the loveseat. “It could be really helpful for you and it might help curate some ideas to edit that deplorable show of yours.”

Richie glares sourly at his dad. “It’s not a big deal if I have one flop of a show.”

“Rich, the entire show is so grossly offensive toward women and all you do the entire show is fucking shit on yourself.” Went argues.

“Okay? So? It’s not offensive to _all_ women… just my girlfriend.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend, Richie.”

“See? It’s not a big deal then. This ‘bitch’ I’m talking about in the show that I cheat on or whatever doesn’t even exist.” Richie thinks for a second. “I’m not even cheating on her. I just happen to like her friend’s Facebook pa—”

“I don’t even wanna hear the joke again.” Maggie interrupts. “It’s not even a good opener and just because it’s about someone that doesn’t even exist doesn’t mean it can’t be hurtful toward women. I found some of the jokes to be rather appalling and hurtful and like your dad said, I don’t like that you’re implying that you barely got through high school and college and that you’re this big dumb oaf that can’t do anything but goof off and have this crazy fucking sex life or whatever that this stupid tour is about.”

“Okay, then don’t see it.” He snaps. 

“No, Richie! We want to support you so we’ll see it no matter what.” She sighs. “I don’t like that you’re making a mockery of yourself. _You_ are not stupid. You never have been stupid. You were valedictorian in high school,” Richie turns a little green at the gills at the mention of that, “and despite transferring schools and struggling with an addiction, you managed to graduate college with a near perfect GPA. You are smart and you don’t have to paint yourself as some fucking moron to get people to laugh at you.”

“Can we just not talk about this? My show is set and done and I’m just going to deal with it as is. I’m not happy about it either, okay? I’m not.” He places his bowl on the table and slumps back, rubbing his temples. “I wish I could come up with something better and write my own material again, but I can’t get out of this stupid shit right now and I don’t really care to right now. I just want to do what they’re telling me to right now and get it over with. Can you just leave it at that?”

“No.” Maggie shakes her head. “Richie you deserve to be happy and you’re not happy. You don’t need to do this tour right now if you don’t think it’s going to be what you want and I’m sure your fans would understand that.”

“Sure.” He mutters sourly. 

“You need to stop with this front you always have. You need to stop pretending this shit doesn’t bother you and that you aren’t hurting right now and you need to stop hiding behind all these lies all the time Richie. Something is going to break and that something is going to be you.”

“What lies? I made it abundantly clear that I was unhappy.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She says as gently as she can in the moment of such extreme tension. Her heart is beating in her ears and she sees the way Richie’s shoulders drop.

He opens his mouth to speak but in some odd turn of fate, the dull local story about some new vegan bakery opening up is cut off by a Special Report. “We are sorry for interrupting this program but today, on June 25th, 2015, it has been declared by the Supreme Court in a five to four rule that same-sex marriage is officially legal in all fifty states.” The newscaster goes on to continue what this entails for the nation but all Maggie can focus on is the shock written across her son’s face.

His mouth opens, jaw quivering as if to say something but instead he walks out of the living room and straight toward the kitchen. 

Maggie glances at Went. No words need to be said as she bites her lip and he nods his head. She gets up and enters the kitchen where Richie is holding his face in his hands, tears managing to slip through the creases of his fingers.

“Hey,” She says softly. “It’s okay.”

“I-I don’t even… I can’t even…” He chokes before breaking into a fit of sobs. 

She pulls out the chair next to him, the squeak loud over the sound of her son’s hysteria. “Is there anything you want to say, Richie?”

He looks at her, eyes painfully red and distraught behind his glasses. He shakes his head and her heart sinks. “No.”

She accepts this, wrapping her arms around him as he cries from… Joy? Shame? Longing? A mixture of all three? She is not certain.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack. I know the time skips have to be getting annoying and I just have them there because none of the events that are really mentioned in the moments warrant a whole month/year situation dedicated to them in order to explain it as anything other than just kind of a mention in the present perspective of Maggie.
> 
> Regardless, I hope this one was decent and the flow of it wasn't as choppy as the pool you used to swim in as a kid after creating your own homemade wave pool by jumping up and down for 5 minutes straight with your cousins or friends or maybe just yourself, after the whirlpool situation got boring.
> 
> Pacing and I don't mix. Writing and I barely mix on a good day and am outta practice so am making a spicy attempt 
> 
> I did alter the timeline for some of the career choices Hader made in comparison to how Richie did them (because again we all just make Richie follow Hader's career bc it's easy to match them up) like with the movies especially in how he released them bc I dont think Richie would have been able to balance so much while being still on SNL the way Hader did just because Richie is Richie and probably would scream like a fuckin maniac if he were to stretch himself THAT thin and also just to fit my storyline because this is my story. I can do what I want but please don't think of me as an idiot bc i did what i felt like dammit
> 
> also skeleton twins is my favorite movie of all time and i urge that you watch it. i identity too closely with Milo for we are both the life and death of a party :) and also get really devastated over our lack of success as adults and realize we peaked in high school and will never amount to anything interesting... even though our high school experience was essentially garbage. THAT MOVIE HITS A LIL TOO CLOSE TO HOME. but go watch it!!!! It's on hulu!!!! :)
> 
> Also I have zero idea what I'm doing after I finish this fic. i have too much free time this next fall because my classes are online and I can't work because I live with high risk people since I can't live in an apartment rn. idk. maybe i'll commit a felony or pick up photography again or write out the other Fic ideas I had. :)


	37. Part V: Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2016 in fic-verse my dudes. Lowkey 2016 was a peak in my existence. I graduated high school (I am old), I went on 3 different trips, I had my first kiss while extremely intoxicated, and I and the rest of my university hunted clowns (fitting) during the killer clown bullshit of 2016 while I was suffering from severe bronchitis (Eddie Kaspbrak would not have approved) and screamed FUCK THAT CLOWN on the university lawn.
> 
> However, 2016 for Maggie and her family? FUCKIN TRASH. sorry Maggie. RIP to you guys but I'm different <3 
> 
> I really hope this one does not disappoint even if it majorly filler content again and a bit of a slow build to what is to come!!! I was hoping this one would pan out a little better but my words are just extremely jumbled lately and I don't know how to write a sentence with coherent structure right now and idek how to function rn but that's life my dudes. Thank ya for always being kind despite this struggle. Ya'll are lovely. 
> 
> MASSIVE TW: Nightmares of a rather graphic suicide but no actual suicide occurs (I will put (***) around the nightmares if you would wish to skip those moments which I TOTALLY understand and urge you to skip if that is a touchy subject matter for you ),poor mental health, using weed in place of other pain relief, discussions of mortality and aging

Maggie did  _ not  _ know the significance behind twenty-seven years.

**May 2016**

As Maggie sits on a plush couch in the arms of her husband in a living room far too grand for her tastes, she wonders how time managed to slip by so quickly. She muses upon this as she glances up at her husband, whose attention is fixed on some murder investigation show that she sometimes wonders if he watches as a  _ What Not To Do To Get Caught When Killing Your Wife  _ manual in order to plot her own death but she knows that cannot possibly be true for he loves her far too much to even make a joke about such a thing. He would be none too thrilled to know she even considers such humorous ponderings after they’ve been married for forty years (forty-one come October). Sometimes it feels like she blinked and the gawky-looking college student with dark hair, darker eyes, and an unmatched amount of charisma whom she had fallen for at first laugh quickly evaporated with the flutter of her lashes and she and him had both became this dorky, old—because yes they were most certainly old now—couple that loved each other all the same if not more now than they had when they first declared such sentiments. 

Went’s hair should be entirely white now, but instead he sports a stylish salt and peppered look as he continues to box dye it in their bathroom—permanently staining the walls of their shower with an abundance of  _ Dark Brown Just For Men:Touch of Grey  _ splatters. Her hair is streaked with white but she doesn’t even make attempts to color the white out because the shade difference isn’t nearly as stark of a contrast as Went’s is and isn’t as noticeable against the blonde of her hair which has lightened to a near-platinum shade in the California sun in the last two decades. 

Went’s eyes have gone to absolute shit in the last five years, causing him to upgrade to a prescription that rivals the rather intense one their son has had since toddlerhood. Maggie has had to upgrade from her stylish reading lenses to an actual prescription pair of glasses. However, she found that she was prone to misplacing hers, so more often than not, she tends to wear contact lenses. 

Their bodies, while they haven’t been fit and toned in quite some time, are not nearly as soft and cushioned as they were in their forties and fifties. Overnight it seems like some of the warming plush they had on their bones melted away and was replaced by the subtle jut of bone against skin that doesn’t bounce back the way it once did and is actually starting to spot on their bony fingers from the sun damage they never adequately prepared for each summer. Cuddling is still much preferred now than it had been when they were complete string beans in college but it’s not nearly as cushion-y as it had once been. Nevertheless, Maggie is perfectly content in snuggling close to her beloved husband regardless of the way his body feels.

However, sometimes cuddling wasn’t optimal because they were almost  _ always  _ sore for some ungodly reason. Their bones crack comically loud when they turn just slightly too fast and if they don’t arrange their pillows in the most perfect manner or if they happen to sleep in just the most moderately awkward of positions, their joints are certain to remind them of such facts in the form of dull aches that no amount of ibuprofen seems to alleviate. 

Maggie had once believed that the idea that one’s joints hurt more when it’s gloomy and rainy outside was some old wive’s tale—but age has proven that to be an official fact. Without fail, when the California sky falls grey on a rare occasion and their dehydrated lawns are graced with a torrential downpour, she can be sure that Went will moan about lower back aches and her hands and feet will throb in sync with her heartbeat. 

The passage of time and their steadily (but truly more rapidly) increasing age became radically more evident with Went and her deciding to retire at the start of the new year. It had been a thought, only discussed in brevity over breakfast or jokingly when they each had another late night at the office and could feel the exhaustion settling into their thinning bones. Went had contemplated such ideas solely because his own father had died young as a result of excessive strain upon his heart and in the last five years, Went’s own heart had been mildly out of sorts and none of his levels were ever in a “normal” range but never too severe to warrant much treatment beyond  _ “keep a balanced diet”  _ and  _ “don’t over-exert yourself _ .” 

Maggie had considered ending her own part-time career simply because there really was no need for both of them to bring in much income because they always had their bills “anonymously” paid off by a certain comedian who refused to admit that he was the culprit behind such substantial checks that were sent to their mailbox on a more frequent basis than their actual paychecks from their jobs had been. 

The decision to retire was essentially finalized when Wentworth’s abnormal numbers reared their ugly head in the form of a massive heart attack on Christmas morning. Maggie does not think she will ever get the image of her husband’s eyes blown wide in agony as he clutched fiercely at his struggling heart while Richie, through the power of adrenaline, just barely managed to pick his father right off his two feet in order to rush him out to his car and straight to the hospital as there was no way that any of them were willing to wait on an ambulance to assist them when with Richie’s erratic driving behavior, they were more likely to get to the hospital at a rate faster than not only the paramedics but the world’s most efficient pizza delivery service. 

This heart attack had not only finalized their need to retire but also led them to moving into the guest house of their son’s obscenely large Malibu property. Richie had never looked so mortified in his life as he had when he watched his father battle between life and death. It was not long after Went was carted away that Richie completely broke down in front of Maggie.

“You guys cannot continue working yourselves the way you have since I was a fucking  _ kid _ .” Richie insisted in a hushed voice. He had moved his fingers across his face; an attempt to disperse the tears that had unwillingly seeped out of their ducts.

Maggie had been riddled with fearful chills, teeth chattering against her will. The doctors had told her that Went would be fine and that they just needed to run some more tests before they could come back and see him. “Rich, I’m more than aware of this and we’re going to figure it out.” She had attempted to reassure— perhaps more for her sake than his. 

“No! I can’t let either of you jeopardize your lives for no fucking reason anymore.” Richie had seethed back, stuffing his trembling fingers into the pockets of his leather jacket. It occurred to her then as he poorly masked the fear he’d felt, that he had never been forced to see his parents function as anything but the peak of human performance—never having seen them crumble under the crushing weight daily stressors often brought to them, especially now with their bodies seemingly betraying them with the rise of their age. They really weren’t  _ that  _ old, truly. But sometimes, on days like  _ that  _ day, they were cruelly reminded that they had less time on this earth than they’d already lived.

He never saw how they trembled fearfully as  _ he  _ fought for his life against the invisible demons of addiction, and now he was on the other side being forced to see his own father struggle against something they probably should have anticipated with Went’s family history but ignorantly disregarded in favor of attempting to live life as if they were still in their prime. It was quite obvious that Richie could not handle this type of emotional turmoil. 

“You guys can’t do this to yourselves anymore. You both need to retire because I can’t stand by and watch you guys senselessly exert yourselves when it’s obvious that it’s having a serious impact on your health.” 

She almost wanted to argue that there was no substantial evidence to suggest that it was solely work compromising their health and that this was a first-time occurrence but she knew he was right. They were too old to go at it like they had for the last forty years. It was time to stop. 

“Honey, I know.” Maggie had responded with a sigh. “We’ll figure it out.”

“There’s no figuring to do, mom.” Richie huffed out. “Just retire.”

“Richie, it’s not  _ that  _ simple. We’ll have to sell the house and downsize and—”

“Come live with me.” Richie had blurted. 

Her eyes widened at that. “What?”

“I have a guest house. I have  _ plenty  _ of room. Just… just move in with me.” 

“Richie, we can’t do that to you.”

“Oh yeah, because I live with  _ so  _ many people that you could possibly inconvenience with your presence.” Richie had scoffed. He probably meant it as a way to reassure that it would be no bother in having them move in with him but all it did was heavy her heart as she could easily detect the thick self-deprecation and desperate loneliness in his tone. 

His eyes were pleading and filled with a terror she had not seen in him since that  _ one  _ summer. “Please. I just want you guys to be safe.” The “ _ I don’t have anyone else” _ went unsaid but Maggie could hear it in the insecure wriggling of his shoulders, the quivering of his jaw and the tears streaming from blue eyes that matched hers.

“I’ll talk to your father about it.” She told him. “Thank you, Richie.”

Went had initially felt uneasy about the situation when Maggie first informed him of Richie’s suggestion when Went was declared well enough to leave the hospital. Maggie understood his doubts as Richie was already doing too much to ensure that they were more than well off and occupying his entire guest house would feel like they were mooching off of their son’s fortune. They discussed the manner in depth with Richie and they ultimately agreed to and not solely because they would certainly benefit from not having the weight of worry that would accompany selling a house and finding a new one but also because they’d become more aware of just how lonely Richie had to be wallowing all by himself in that mansion he didn’t  _ need  _ to buy but chose to for some bizarre famous person reason. Maggie suspected that he’d planned on roping them into moving into the house with him in some way or other in the future anyway.

Moving in with their son had been an impressively easy feat, as Richie had ensured that neither of them would have to lift a single finger throughout the entire process. Maggie knew the event of Went’s heart attack had truly left a mark on their son as it was hard for anyone to witness their parents’ physical health crumble even if it was just for mere seconds but she had not realized just how severely the living daylights had been scared right out of their son until he elected to postpone his entire tour against the wishes of his pisspoor writing team. 

Richie decided that he wanted to basically wait on them hand and foot whether it was because he was just that concerned for their health or because he’d been on his lonesome for far too long—Maggie was not completely sure but she speculated that it was a mixture of both things. With this leave of absence, Richie was to be off from anything that went beyond him showing up for shoot days for films he had previously lined up and basic table reads that he usually attended via Facetime. His schedule was to be relatively open until mid-August when he would have his first show of the tour that had been entirely rescheduled to accommodate for a “family emergency” as his publicist had declared it on Richie’s Twitter. 

Not necessarily a lie but Richie was undeniably taking more time off than necessary. However, in taking so much time off, Maggie and Went saw this as an opportunity for Richie to possibly rework the entire (sexist and dudebro humor) featured in the entire act of  _ The Fun Is Just Beginning  _ tour—a name Richie was not particularly fond of but had simply settled for whilst suffering in the depressive episode that simply enhanced itself with the fact that Steve had recently got himself a new boyfriend. His name was Eric and he was proving himself to be just what Steve needed—out and completely proud to love Steve as loudly and confidently as possible.

Maggie thought that Eric was an extremely nice man and she knew despite the inevitable green of envy, Richie actually happened to  _ like  _ Eric and got along with him remarkably well. However, healthy break-up dynamics aside, Richie was of course saddened by such a development and it was obvious in the lack of changes made to  _ The Fun Is Just Beginning  _ act. Richie had yet to take initiative in writing his own material for the show and Maggie knew a lot of that was simply a result of the lack of motivation he felt due to the depression he refused to address beyond the prescription medication that really should be utilized with a  _ mixture _ of talk therapy and not just pills alone.

Living with Richie as a result of them getting older made her realize that Richie was not only struggling more than she’d realized but he too was getting older—and that was just bizarre to witness as a mother. Richie was getting old. Her baby boy, whom just yesterday, she’d held for the first time in her arms in a hospital in Maine and laughed at as her husband recklessly tossed his noodly body into their swimming pool was getting old and it showed in the same ways their age had become evident to them. 

Presently, Richie was at the chiropractor. He’d started going on and off in his late twenties due to the infamous Tozier back pain that remained a constant down his lower spine and had increased his visitations to a bi-weekly basis after having taken full responsibility of moving his parent’s belongings into the guest house which proved to be an undue amount of strain upon his forty year old spine. Ever since moving them in, Maggie had guiltily noticed that Richie slowed down quite a significant amount and frequently suffered intense back spasms that he would attempt to cure in the form of not basic over-the-counter shit as she would have hoped, but with smoke sessions he would have in his basement or downtown with some of his 420-friendly buddies. She supposes it’s better than him relying on alcohol or prescription drugs to give him some relief. 

Richie’s eyesight had not worsened beyond the already extremely pathetic near-blind state it had always been. However, unlike her and Went, his hearing was starting to take more of a hit than it should for someone that just turned forty. It showed in the way he turned the TV volume up to deafening levels and struggled to hear them when they talked in level-voices from opposing sides of a room. Maggie figured this premature hearing loss was a result of being in the entertainment industry for so long whereby Richie had been surrounded by hellishly loud shouting and music and alarms. In addition to the work related damage he’d obviously suffered, Richie did not seem to understand that the noise-cancelling headphones that he wore and loved for their ability to block out outside commotion were only noise-cancelling not as a result of the squishy material that hugged his ears but because they were obscenely loud and were scarring the living hell out of his eardrums. She reprimanded him for his continued use of the headphones as she was most concerned for the long term health consequences it would have on her son. However, Richie refused to hear any of what she had to say on the subject—literally.

She had also noticed that Richie’s forehead had gained some territory in the way his hairline started receding in the same pattern that Went’s had. His hair was still plenty thick and curled wildly despite his attempts to tame his locks and he only sported some grey (which he’d taken to coloring) at his temples (a result of the stress he put himself through) but Maggie knew that the thinning of his hair was something that bothered Richie with his sudden desire to wear hats on a more frequent basis. 

However, what  _ really  _ bothered Richie was the fact that like her and Went had endured in their thirties and forties, his metabolism was  _ finally _ slowing down—which was probably the best thing age could have done to her string bean son in her honest opinion. Someone could only resemble a beanstalk for so long in their life before it began to look rather unsettling. He was still ridiculously tall and had toned arms and legs that would deceive someone into thinking her son had actually worked out since finishing his high school gym class in ‘94 (which was not the case at all), but he’d gained a slight softness to his stomach and hips that his bony ass had never had before and she knew it bothered him to no end. 

He wasn’t by any means chubby or anywhere near being overweight (but one might think so if they heard Richie complain about it without seeing him first) but he had the slightest pooch that became obvious when he sat down in a posture his chiropractor would not approve of and occasionally nosed at t-shirts he’d had since his early 20s and could not part with even though they looked more like crop-tops now and strained around his shoulders a tad too much. He could easily lose any squishier bits that he wasn’t a fan of if he started doing just ten sit-ups a week but Maggie knew that was about as likely as getting him to drink more than half a glass of water and to actually carry around his emergency epipen when going to a restaurant that may not attempt to avoid cross-contamination with the nut of death. 

Maggie refrained from making any suggestions or commentary because she knew most of the weight he’d put on was a result of the SSRI he’d been prescribed and personally, Maggie and Went both agreed that he definitely needed the extra weight especially after he started taking on an unhealthily thin look with his less than adequate mental health and inability to adequately care for himself at the bare minimum on most days. However, no matter how Richie looked, he always found a way to be insecure about his appearance and this just became more obvious as he grew older.

Watching her only child get older and complain about getting older was somewhat interesting but perhaps more distressing if Maggie really thought about it in excessive detail—and admittedly she did that too often. It served as a reminder of their own mortality and how at some point she would no longer be there to witness what else her son would accomplish or be the shoulder to cry on that she always had been.

She used to think it was ridiculous when people would say “ _ life is too short”  _ because truly, it made no sense to her when she herself was young and naive. How could life be too short when it’s the longest thing anyone ever does? That seemed like such a stupid way of thinking and just an idea held by people who wasted their lives doing nothing. But then she became a mother and the years flew by before her eyes and now she and her husband met the requirements for senior discounts at movie theaters and her son was considered middle-aged. Life might not be short perse, but it definitely moved at a rapidly increasing pace the closer one got to drawing their existence to its finality. 

Existential dread as a result of aging aside, moving in with Richie had been extremely pleasant for the most part. Although they moved in expecting to spend a majority of their time in the guest house as to not possibly disturb their son, they ended up spending more time in the main house for Richie was rather clingy and a complete mama’s boy and often wanted them around him for movies, dinner, and just basic quality time—not that Maggie and Went would ever complain about such requests. Maggie had always worried about her son and this concern only grew once he moved out of the house for the first time and after years of not living on the same side of the country with him, it was truly a relief to be able to see him every single day and to ensure that he was at least making some semblance of an effort to function as a normal human being and not like some “goddamned ninja turtle” as he liked to jokingly say sometimes. 

Interrupting her train of thought pertaining to the mixture of admiration and dread that comes with mulling over the passage of time, a jaw-cracking yawn forces it’s way past Maggie’s mouth, causing her to nuzzle her head deeper into her husband’s chest where a steady and a healthier-than-it-had-been-at-Christmas heart rhythm beats beneath her head.

“Sleepy?” Went snorts, choosing to press a kiss to his wife’s mess of hair rather than continuing to listen to the results of the DNA test that proved that the funeral director had unquestionably murdered his wife and had been so close to covering up the evidence with the help of his own knowledge of autopsies and handling the deceased but had ultimately failed. 

“Mmmph.” She mumbles intelligently, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Not sleeping well, still?” He inquires, eyes visibly concerned. “Maybe you should see someone.”

“It’s nothing.” She insists, looking up at him and poking him in the soft skin beneath his jaw. 

“Could always use some of Richie’s more… _ green  _ methods to get you some rest.” He teases as he makes an attempt to mimic someone taking a rather dramatic hit from a joint. 

“Oh hush.” She cackles, smacking his bicep playfully. She knows she’s being stubborn. She can never deny such a fact as this trait that is very obviously from her shines like a beacon in her son just about every single day.

He smiles kindly, eyes crinkling around the corners. “I just don’t like seeing you so worn out all the time, Mags.” His voice is sincere.

“I know.” She breathes out. “I’ll figure it out eventually.” 

Exhaustion has unfortunately become a close acquaintance of hers. She would have thought that moving into such a grand home with a mattress softer than anything she’s ever had the privilege of laying upon would make restless nights a thing of the past. However, this has not been the case for she had been riddled with an inordinate amount of anxiety for her son.

A lot of the concern she’d experienced for Richie had occurred as a result of the significant amount of distance that had been placed between the two of them. Such worries had been mitigated upon moving in back in January but had since come back rather unexpectedly in the last several weeks in the form of gruesome and recurring nightmares that awoke her at ungodly hours and forced her to sprint out of the guest house and sneak up to her son’s room just to make sure that he was still breathing. 

She knew such reactions were indisputably irrational and it was clearly wearing away at her physical and mental wellbeing as she was almost chronically exhausted. However, she’s not sure she would even want to sleep after envisioning the things she had seen in her sleep for each time she closed her eyes after waking from such nightmares, the images would flash across her mind in their horrific vividity—almost threatening to revisit her the next time she allowed herself to succumb to the unconscious realm of sleep. 

Some of the recurring dreams were more traumatizing than others and had permanently etched themselves into her brain. One in particular was quite odd in nature and she could not quite pinpoint the location of the dream. She would find herself in a dark room filled wall to wall with a plethora of clown dolls and statues. The only space not filled by figurines that had eyes that seemed to follow her as she walked across the creaking floors was a pathway that led to a hauntingly small coffin. No coffin that was less than the standard size designed for what  _ should  _ only be exclusive to the eldery (but tragically was not) was ever a good sign. She never wanted to open the thing but something in the dream  _ always  _ forced her hand and she was met with the sight of a deceased looking puppet designed to look just as her son had in his early adolescence. 

The eyes were milky white and unseeing; cheeks rotting away and filled with maggots that squirmed grossly in the crevices. It was vaguely similar to the sight she’d been met with in the cursed obituary that for some unknown reason she’d held onto for all these years and had stashed away at the bottom of her nightstand drawer. She never looked at it but she knew it was there and could probably recite the taunting words without even a glimpse of the thing. Nothing beyond her discovering the decaying puppet-Richie ever happened in the dream. It was merely unsettling and just so outlandishly frightening that she could not erase the image from her mind. 

Arguably the worst dream she frequently had was a repeat of the real-life nightmarish experience she’d endured when she’d discovered that Richie had overdosed in his bedroom. However, rather than reaching the scene in time to call the paramedics and save his life, she was always too late in these dreams. Sometimes she got past the door and he was not seizing violently in his bed. Instead, he was eerily still, blood dripping from his right nostril and eyes rolled back into his skull. Dead. Other times, she got there and held him close, begging him to look at her as involuntary rattling sounds emitted from deep in his throat until finally, the quaking ceased and he died right there in her arms before help ever arrived. 

The dreams were haunting and plagued her subconscious each night and perhaps Went was right and she  _ should  _ seek out some help to alleviate the perpetual exhaustion she’d been subject to as a result of the tortuous fear she’d become accustomed to these last several weeks. It shouldn’t be a question— Maggie knew that. It was her mental and physical health at stake and if Richie had become aware of this ordeal he himself would pitch a fit and a half over the matter. But oddly enough, she felt like she was having the dreams for a  _ reason  _ and perhaps that sounded ridiculous and was merely her own way of trying to muscle through her problems in a way she would not want Went or Richie to ever do—but it just felt like all these vivid dreams were happening for a particular purpose of sorts. Maggie could only digress and elected to ignore the glaringly obvious problem she presently had. 

“I don’t think you should just brush this under the rug.” Went huffs.

She elects to maturely stick her tongue out at him which earns her a kiss to the forehead. “That’s enough out of you.” She snarks back as the sound of the front door opening is easily heard as a result of the (ridiculously) open floor plan. 

Richie walks past them clearly immersed in a conversation. Courteously and not at all because she wants to be somewhat nosy, Maggie grabs the remote and turns down the volume as another episode of one of the various  _ What Not To Do To Get Caught When Killing Your Wife  _ shows starts up. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Richie nods eagerly, bidding his parents a half-assed wave of greeting. “I mean  _ I’ve  _ never directed but like I just had the idea and I think we could really make it work if we plan it out more and start writing it.” A pause. He snorts, making his way to the kitchen. “I’ll just bat my eyelashes. That’ll get me somewhere, I’m sure.” 

Maggie glances up at Went curiously. Directing? That’s something new. 

Richie walks back out, taking a long pull from his freshly refilled reusable water bottle—an L.A. staple. “I’ll send you some of the ideas I had, tomorrow.” He waits for a response. “Alright talk to you later.” He drops down in the loveseat next to them.

“How was the chiropractor?” Went inquires.

Richie shakes his hand a so-so motion. “She said my spine felt like absolute shit but she managed to crack me like eighty-seven times.”

Maggie raises a brow at his slouching position. “Is  _ that  _ really the best way to be sitting after that kind of appointment?”

“No criticizing me in  _ my  _ house.” 

Went chortles at that. Richie has become a big fan of using that comeback for even the mildest form of criticism they occasionally throw his way. 

Maggie shakes her head, removing herself from the firm comfort of Went’s chest. “So what’s this about you directing or whatever you were talking about?”

“Nosy, are we?” Richie teases. “I dunno. It’s probably nothing. I just had a pitch for something… maybe. I’ve been writing some stuff down and my friend Alec really liked it so we started throwing ideas back and forth together and we might see if we can do anything with it after the tour.”

“That’s great, Richie!” Went beams and Richie shrugs modestly. “Have you figured out anything new for the tour.”

Richie winces at that. “Not really? I think I just gotta settle for what it is.” The shame is plain as day on his face and the previous gleam of joy pertaining to whatever he and Alec had been discussing evaporates upon the mention of a tour Maggie doesn’t even think he should do or even  _ wants  _ to do. 

Her stomach sinks at the change in tone and she sees a guilty expression in Went’s eyes. As a mother, she’s used to thinking fast. “So, what is the show about?” 

His face immediately brightens. Went offers an encouraging nod. 

“Okay, it’s probably a little weird but,” he chuckles, carding a hand through the mess of his hair. “It’s about this hitman and he wants to be an actor…”

xXx

**August 2016**

**(***)**

_ Richie peers into the vanity mirror of a bathroom she does not recognize; eyes bloodshot in such a way that Maggie can only remember being the result of the excessive use of one particular powdery and addictive drug. His hair is overgrown and greasy, curling wildly around his ears and at the nape of his neck. Cheeks thin and sallow. She can see track marks up his bony arms where all natural muscle and fat has completely melted away in a manner faster than is healthy based on the way the skin drapes lifelessly against the surely malnourished bones. There is a jitter to his fingers that she can only remember being there in his early 20s. He rubs a trembling hand across his stubbly face that appears to have aged a decade more than she is used to seeing it.  _

_ She longs to touch his knobby shoulder, to rub her hand through his oily hair. She wants to offer him the comfort only a mother can but for now, all she can do is watch him in his obvious state of suffering.  _

_ A wet hiccup creeps past his throat and he sniffles loudly. His shoulders begin to tremble violently and he releases a sob of sheer anguish. He bites down on a chapped bottom lip. Hands gripping the side of the sink, dropping his head down, he utters a name he’s not said in twenty-two years.  _

_ “I’m so sorry Eddie.” His knuckles go white as his hold tightens. He shakes his head and arcs his head back, looking to the ceiling, the sky; somewhere beyond him. “It should have been me. It should have been  _ me _.” _

_Maggie is stunned for she hasn’t the faintest idea of what Richie is talking about. All she knows is he’s clearly in pain and is blaming himself for something that happened to Eddie— perhaps his_ death. _But that cannot possibly be the case here. It makes no logical sense. Richie hasn’t seen Eddie in years. He doesn’t even_ remember _Eddie. Richie cannot be at fault for the death of someone who he has not seen in over twenty years._

_ A laugh creeps up her son’s throat. It’s not a hearty laugh. It is not one of joy or anything remotely close to happiness. It’s bitter and tinged with hate—hate for only himself, Maggie knows. He laughs louder, tears slipping down the harsh lines of his face.  _

_ “Stan the man,” He whistles. “You,  _ You  _ always knew what was best. You were always the smartest out of all of us—that you were.” He bares his teeth in something that is probably meant to be a smile but is more akin to a grimace of unadulterated agony. “You knew what to do.” _

_ He huffs out a breath, pulling himself as straight as possible for his weakened body. He shoves his hand in the left pocket of sweatpants that are splattered with something Maggie has reason to believe is definitely not food but most likely the spills of some top shelf booze. He whips out a crudely folded piece of paper that is scribbled with something Maggie cannot quite distinguish. He drops it on the counter and turns to a bathtub that is filled about halfway and is in dire need of a scouring job.  _

_ He steps in, fully clothed and for some reason  _ that _ doesn’t unsettle Maggie as much as it would on any other occasion. He winces slightly for the water must be hot if the steam emitting from the water is anything to go by. He grips the edges and slides himself down a little deeper until just his shoulders and head are above the water.  _

_ He looks to the tiled shelf where the tub is built into the wall and the gleam of silver he reaches for causes Maggie’s heart to drop—a razor blade. Richie has never used razors with replaceable blades. Never. “I’m sorry Eds.” He whispers to himself, eyes void of all emotion beyond sorrow and pain. She wants to shout. She wants to jump in and grab her son and slap the object out of his hand that he is currently twisting in between unsteady fingers with morbid curiosity. She cannot. She is only here to watch for some sick, cruel reason. Then with purposeful intent and a force that will only yield in one possible outcome, he takes the blade and he... _

**(***)**

Maggie gasps herself awake on the couch of Richie’s living room, drenched in a cold sweat. She is about to scream for her son and dial up the paramedics but quickly remembers that Richie is at his first show of his  _ The Fun Is Just Beginning Tour  _ in L.A. She and Went had wanted to go to the kick-off of his tour, but Richie had nervously asked them to  _ please  _ not come as he did not feel well-versed in the material and did not want them to be disappointed if he were to fall flat tonight. Code for: Richie hated the entire act and did not want to perform it in front of anyone, especially his parents. They would, however, be traveling to Reno next weekend to see him perform there instead. They weren’t a fan of what he was set to perform, but they would support their son no matter what. 

Richie is not at home, though. She knows this. He is not in some mysterious bathroom she does not recognize, about to end his life whilst tearfully mumbling about the lives of two friends that she  _ knows  _ Richie cannot remember. He has to be safe. There is no reason why he wouldn’t be. Richie is fine.

Maggie sits up, still shaken to her core. She’s not sure what jolted her awake so abruptly but she has to admit that she is thankful that she was not forced to witness that nightmare unfold in its entirety. Usually it is Went that wakes her up from night terrors but she knows that cannot be the case as she turns to see the man in question is sprawled out handsomely as ever across the loveseat with his glasses low on the bridge of his nose, snoring loudly as  _ American Pickers  _ plays on the TV. 

She inhales deeply and notices that the screen of her phone is aglow with a news notification. It vibrates as another banner pops up from the same unfamiliar source. Odd. Maggie was certain she removed such notifications from alerting her after realizing the drain it had on her battery. Perhaps she didn’t set it correctly in her settings and the buzz of the notification is what woke her up. 

She knows there’s no point in attempting to drift off once more as the adrenaline from the terror of the dream has yet to completely wear off so she picks up her phone, intending to edit the settings so she only receives notifications for the few social media apps that she actually uses. However, just as she’s about to use her touch ID, she realizes _ where  _ these news notifications are coming from and ice surges in her veins as she reads the location for a headline that she had once been unable to find any search results for: Derry, Maine.

Heart in her throat and a roaring in her ears, she swipes across the notification banner and finds herself reading a news article from a virtual version of the local Derry paper that she rarely ever glimpsed at in their time living there. The headline itself is enough to send her spiraling into a panic as it reports the attack and subsequent death of a young man by the name of Adrian Mellon. It is stated that Don Hagarty, Mellon’s boyfriend, survived the same brutal assault committed against them by a group of young men who came after them due to their sexuality. Hagarty also reported having seen something else when attempting to rescue his boyfriend from being thrown over the edge of the bridge but had elected to offer no further comment on the matter. 

Maggie is cruelly reminded of what triggered her desire to suddenly move her family from that devilish town. The details in the paper, while not overly descriptive, are terrifying enough to bring these memories of her son and his own first love being attacked for simply kissing in a town that clearly continues to ridicule people for simply loving one another back to the forefront of her mind. She is further disturbed by the fact that Hagarty reports something  _ else _ at the scene of the crime—something too gruesome and atrocious for him to willingly describe to reporters and the first responders at the scene. 

The gears in the back of her mind start whirring away and she thinks of the red balloon in her previous home and at the gas station and the portrait of the formidable looking clown on the bottom of the obituary that she could never forget no matter how many years passed since receiving that harrowing message. 

Silently, she opens Google. She types in:  **Derry, Maine.** For years, she hoped that she would somehow be able to find this town again— to find at least one piece of source material to suggest that this place existed and that she and her family had come from there. She longed to be able to research this place and find out  _ why  _ this place was so vastly different from everywhere else she’d ever stepped foot in. But now, Maggie hopes for nothing more than this news article to be a simple typo and to once again find zero search results.

Instead, she is met with a multitude of pages regarding a town that had previously been wiped away from all existence that went beyond her and her husband’s memory. It appears in Google maps with a rough estimate as to how long it would take her to drive there (approximately forty-eight hours) and she is also met with an abundance of news articles that are almost all headlined with reports of missing and disembodied children that have been discovered across the town. Her eyes widen as she is sent back to a summer of incessant worry that her son would become one of those children—that she would have to dig up one of his school pictures to send in and plaster all around the town, knowing full well that no one was doing nearly enough to get to the bottom as to why those children had all disappeared. They’d accused the demented Henry Bowers for the crimes, but he’d been imprisoned for nearly thirty years now. Clearly, someone or  _ something _ else was responsible this time.

She feels incredibly ill and wants to awaken Went from his slumber but something possesses her to edit her search. She begins to type:  **Derry, Maine Clown** but just as she is about to hit the search button, she nearly loses her collective shit as her phone chooses then to buzz loudly in her hands as Steve Covall’s contact picture pops up on her screen. 

“Jesus Christ!” She yelps, heart skipping a beat or two as she drops her phone to the floor. This is enough to disturb Went from his sleep with an annoyed moan. She scrambles to pick up the vibrating device and taps the green button, brows creasing when she quickly glimpses at the time. Richie should still be performing right about now. Why is Steve calling?

“Hi Steve.” She breathes out, voice unsteady. She has not had time to compose herself.

“Hey Maggie.” His tone is one that is also wavering and this sends a jolt through her entire form as images of her most recent nightmare flash across her mind. “Are you okay? I just wanted to see how you and Went were.”

“Um… we’re both fine. Is everything okay?”

“Richie said there was some family emergency and I just wanted to make sure you guys were doing alright.”

“What? No? We’re all fine here.”

“Goddammit Richie.” Steve groans. 

“Steve, what’s going on?” Maggie demands. “I thought Richie had a show right now.”

“Has Rich called you?”

“Uh, no. He has not.” She says slowly and Went looks at her with a perturbed expression. She mouths  _ Steve  _ to him and that serves to confuse him more as he also knows that Richie should still be in the middle of his act. 

“Fuck.” Steve grumbles. “I guess I should be the one to tell you before paparazzi manages to twist the whole story” 

“Wait what’s going on?” 

Steve sighs and yells something to someone else in the background about refunds and  _ that  _ is concerning. “I don’t know everything I guess.” He sighs. “Richie… I don’t know what happened to him exactly. Someone called him and I don’t know what it was, but it sent Richie completely off the rails and he ended up throwing up backstage and then when we got him  _ on  _ stage, he completely forgot the opening bit to the entire act.” 

“Oh wow.” Maggie blinks in surprise at that. “Is he okay? What happened?”

“He just froze up and then he ran off stage and ended up getting sick again in his dressing room and then locked himself in his dressing room for a while.”

“Is he still there?” She demands, wondering if perhaps the dream she had of this sickly version of her son had taken place in a dressing room bathroom or something. Was he still in there? Was he completing the ghastly deed she’d envisioned? “Did he say anything else?”

“Uh, no. He left.” Steve swallows thickly. “He told me he had a family emergency or something was happening and that he had to go to Maine for a few days or so. I know you told me that you guys are all from Maine so I just figured something was happening with some of your extended family and I wanted to check in on you guys.” 

“Richie said he was going to  _ Maine _ ?” She asks, panicked. Normally she may take the time to appreciate the genuine concern that Steve held for them despite the fact that he was no longer intimately involved with their son. 

“Yeah. He’s headed to the airport now I think.” Steve answers. “He might already be there” 

“Fuck.” She hisses, panic seeping into her tone and this has Went scooting over to her immediately, obviously distraught with not being in the loop of whatever conversation his wife and his son’s ex-boyfriend/present manager were currently having. 

“Is everything okay?” Steve inquires nervously. “Richie said he’d call me once he got there and figured things out but I’m already planning to reschedule today’s show for sometime before the Reno one if he—”

“Thank you Steve. I don’t really know what’s happening but we will keep you updated. Thank you, again.” And without waiting for his reply, Maggie hangs up and immediately clicks her son’s name in her Recents list, heart racing as she waits for an answer. 

“Wait, what the fuck is going on?” Went insits. 

“Richie is going to Maine.” Maggie informs him.

“ _ What? _ ” Went’s eyes bug at that. “But—”

She waves him off as she hears her son’s voice. Relief flows through her as she at least knows he’s alive and not offing himself in a strange bathroom. However, with everything that is currently unfolding, she cannot pass that off as an unlikely event. 

“Hey mom.” To say that Richie sounds distressed would be an understatement. 

“Honey? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m… I’m in a bathroom. I’m about to board a flight in twenty minutes.” He laughs feebly, voice quaking. “Did you know I grew up in Maine?” 

She releases a long breath. “Yes, honey. We’ve gone over this before but we stopped talking about… remember?”

“Oh God.” He gags and she hears the sound of retching in the background. 

“Richie?!” She exclaims. 

“What’s going on?” Went asks, worrying his bottom lip.

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I think he might be sick?”

“Is he… you know…” She does know and she knows that  _ that  _ cannot be the case right now. She is confident in that. Something else is at play here. Something even more malicious and villainous than the demons of addiction. 

“No.” She says with an unexpected level of conviction. 

Water running. Spitting. “Jesus… I—fuck. Sorry. I got sick.” He moans pathetically. “How the fuck does someone forget where they’re fucking from, mom?”

She sighs. She’s about to explain that perhaps the trauma he experienced as a result of the physical assault that is eerily similar to the one that played a part in the end of Adrian Mellon’s life could have contributed to his inability to remember where he came from. She  _ knows  _ there is more to it than just that but she does not wish to unsettle her son beyond what he clearly already is. Instead she simply tells him, “I’ve been wondering that for the last twenty-two years, Rich.” 

“Twenty-seven.” He gasps. 

Richie hasn’t had any math in a while but she knows that despite the self-deprecation written into his current act, he is incredibly bright and should know that  _ that  _ number is definitely not correct. 

“Richie, it’s been  _ twenty-two  _ years since we moved.” 

“No! It’s been twenty-seven years since…  _ MOTHERFUCKER!”  _ He shouts and Maggie hears something that sounds eerily like a shoe kicking the side of a wall followed by a yipe of pain. “It’s fucking coming back in weird places and oh God. FUCK.”

“Richie, I think you need to come home and lay down. We can talk more about this in person.” She explains slowly. Her son is clearly not okay right now and should be doing absolutely nothing remotely close to travel of any sort. He needs to lay the fuck down in his bed and have her calmly explain the circumstances of his twenty-two year long case of amnesia. 

“I’m sorry mom, but I’m going to Derry. I’ll call you when I land.” His voice is rushed.

“Richie, no. Cancel the flight,  _ now. _ ” She urges. 

“I love you and tell dad I love him too. Goodbye.” He hangs up. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE ARE IN CH. 2 MY DUDES. 
> 
> idk what month CH. 2 actually takes place and i looked it up and all anyone could say is "summer 27 years later" so Im going with August and if I'm wrong, don't tell me. It is August for me and I won't change it anyway. oof. 
> 
> I hope that one was okay!!!! Something about this chapter felt oddly juvenile and weird for me to write and I'm sorry if it's kinda awkward and sounds kinda dumb? I am chronically paranoid about anything I post but we just gonna disregard that.
> 
> SO obviously a big difference between this and CH. 2 is Richie's tour was most likely actually going on in full force during CH. 2 because Dean knew a line from the show (which he shouldn't Richie's humor is definitely not for kids what the heck) which I decided to just make the entire tour name and I really didn't want Richie compromising his career with a sexist tour so I decided his first date would be at home in LA and he wouldn't even finish the first joke until he got flashbacks and had to stop so that means no one ever has to hear the shitshow his awful writing team made <3 :) Sorry. This is my canon. I'm not budging. Richie gets to be successful in my universe. <3
> 
> Additionally, no, Maggie will not be there to actively witness what goes down in CH. 2 but will be there for the aftermath of what happens to Richie and all the other Losers when Richie comes home so yeah. I am hoping everything I have planned in my head translates well and the rest of this fic is interesting to read/and ends on a satisfying but emotional note (we got a bit to go, i am not ending with the resolution/fix-it of CH. 2). idk I get ~nervous~ 
> 
> thank ya for always being nice!
> 
> and bc i forget this the last few times:
> 
> Richie and Eddie are cuddling as it is the end of summer and neither of them are going back to in-person working and are actively despising our president <3 just lovey things <3


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am genuinely so distraught over Chadwick Boseman's passing. He really left a mark on so many. May he rest in peace and I hope nothing but peace for his family during this time.
> 
> If you're expecting an entertaining chapter with a bunch of exciting stuff solely because we are in CH. 2 now, you would be mistaken because we aren't in fuckin Derry. We are with old woman Margaret Tozier and her husband, Wentworth and seeing how they handle their closet case of a dumbass son from across the country. I exist ONLY to disappoint and produce shitty ass content -finger guns- 
> 
> Here's another long boi before some heavier shit in the next one and by heavy I mean like maybe the weight of a small dog. Idk what I'm doing right now. This chapter was a bitch and a half to write because my brain feels like it's functioning at half capacity???? The pacing is all over the place here because TIME ZONES do be a thing and I nearly forgot that when writing it and realized, oh shit when those fuckers rocked the clown's shit it was probably ridiculously late/early (dependent on how you look at it) for Maggie. So yea. 
> 
> I hope this one is okie to read!!!! 
> 
> TW: Internalized homophobia (Richie), discussions of a suicide attempt (Stan), shitty mental health (literally everyone)

Maggie knew Derry was a place for monsters.

**August 2016**

Maggie remembers a time when she had been young and naive; eyes bright and unmarred by the more ghastly sights the world had in store for her and her budding family. She’d once believed that a quaint, small town in east-central Maine would be a safe place to move as she’d assumed such a beautiful area, with lush green trees and flowing waterways would be the perfect place to settle down with her husband to raise their son. Nothing bad could come of a place with a high-ranked school system and an abundance of seemingly kid-friendly hang-out spots where he would surely make lifelong memories with the friends he’d make in this place to cherish well into his own adulthood. 

Then of course, she came to realize the gruesome truth behind this hell on Earth and moving to that place as opposed to settling closer to her mother as briefly considered has remained as one of her biggest regrets. This town proved itself to be anything but quaint with mean adults and even meaner kids. Sure, Richie _did_ get those memories and those friends that _should_ have been lifelong but something, _something_ in that fucking town caused those friends to evaporate completely from his memory. 

There was a horror in that town that Maggie, even decades later, could not quite fathom or even begin to understand. She suspected problems with the town in the earlier years what with the prejudiced nature of most of the inhabitants but such concerns and beliefs that perhaps this place was not a picturesque family town was finalized after a little boy in a bright yellow raincoat disappeared without a trace beyond blood-stained water near a sewer drain. She knew something was fucked with that place when people turned a blind eye at the body parts that littered the town and when missing children posters were left to shrivel up in the rain for no one was that determined to ever find what was happening to those kids until they could officially (and wrongly as Maggie and Went were quickly realizing) pin the blame on the demeneted son of a bastard cop. And it was clear, after further investigation, that the same problem was happening all over again—twenty seven years later.

Maggie shuts her laptop with an excessive amount of force, covering her face with her hands. She makes meager attempts to settle her racing heart and ease her frayed nerves but she knows it’s to no avail, not when her son is back in fucking Derry, Maine—the cesspool of the east cost. 

“How can he fucking go _there,_ Went?” Maggie begs to know, eyes swimming with tears of frustration, panic, and pure fear. She’s probably asked him this question a dozen times since Richie abruptly hung up on her upon boarding his flight to Bangor where he would rent a car and finish the journey to a place he had previously forgotten. “How does he even _know_ to go there?” 

Went shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mags, I haven’t the slightest idea. I mean we could g—”

“Don’t even suggest that. I am not stepping foot back there. You know what happens when _we_ meddle.” 

“Maybe that was then, Maggie.” Went shrugs, worrying at his bottom lip. 

“Do you really wanna test that?”

He huffs a borderline hysteric laugh. “God, no. We are not repeating _that._ ”

“I can’t… I can’t believe I just let him go.” 

“He really didn’t give us much of an option.”

“I should’ve yelled more.” Maggie grunts. 

“Maggie, when has Richie ever listened to either of us when we yell?” He pushes at her shoulder playfully, clearly making a feeble attempt to alleviate the painstakingly thick tension that has settled in the room.

“He has sometimes.” She defends. “How is it that he remembers _now_?”

“I mean… maybe the one doctor was right about this being a temporary case of amnesia because of the trauma from when him and Eddie were assaulted.” Went’s tone is enough for Maggie to know that even he doesn’t believe that and is simply attempting to craft a thought that resembles something vaguely rational in this moment of sheer uncertainty, utter confusion and absolute terror.

She shakes her head, not wanting to verbally shut down what should be the most reasonable suggestion but it cannot be, because this is _Derry_ they’re talking. “I don’t want him there. I don’t like it, Went.”

“I don’t either.” He sighs.

“This is just so...” She moans into her hands, unable to find the words to properly describe their present predicament. 

“No one should be this distraught over their son returning to their hometown.” Her husband murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest as he pushes his chair back on its hind legs as if attempting to fuel her already skyrocketing anxieties. 

“Fully aware of that, Went.” 

“I’m simply making an observation.” He says defensively and guilt surges through her as she knows she should not be taking this frustration induced by panic out on her husband. Silently, she scoots her chair closer to him and rests her head upon his shoulder. “Sometimes, barring all the shit we went through there, I miss it.”

She nods wordlessly, humming contentedly as he cards his fingers through her hair. 

“We had a lot of good there, I think. More good, than bad in the grand scheme of things.” He laughs something a tad bitter. “I think the residual trauma from the place has been worse than the actual place itself.” 

“I wouldn’t disagree.” She mumbles. “That place is just… there’s something _so_ wrong about it.” She swallows thickly. “I had a dream about Richie before Steve called.”

“What was this one about or is one of those recurring ones?” He doesn’t know the full extent of the nightmares she’s had as she’s never felt comfortable enough disclosing all the macabre details of the terrors within her subconscious. 

She attempts to ground herself with a grounding breath. “It was a new one.” She nibbles at the chipping polish upon her thumb nail, disregarding the fact that some of the bitter paint manages to stick to the surface of her tongue. She blinks away tears that threaten to break the appearance of composure that she’s currently maintaining. 

“What happened?”

“Um… well… Richie, he was talking about Eddie and Stan.”

Went blinks in surprise, halting the soothing motion of his hand in her hair much to her dismay. She moves her head from his chest and meets his bespeckled eyes. “Derry Eddie and Stan?”

“I don’t think he knows any others well enough to be crying over them in a bathroom.” 

“Jesus.” 

“Yeah and he looked like shit and he… he was killing himself, Went.”

 _“What?”_ Went jolts violently at that. 

She purses her lips, shoulders trembling against her will. She’s not used to telling even him about her nightmares.

This most recent dream, however, was not one she could keep to herself. The others were more based on memory, perhaps not _her_ memories for the one with the coffin in the room filled wall to wall with clown figurines went completely over her head but for some peculiar reason it felt familiar in a way she could not quite pinpoint. This most recent nightmare had felt prophetic and she had this intense sensation of foreboding that if she did not verbalize this dream and do something about it, that it would most certainly come to pass.

She nods. “Yeah. He was in this bathroom—I didn’t recognize it— and he was talking about Eddie and Stan and then he took this paper out,” she releases a breath, just now realizing that _that_ must have been his suicide note, “and he climbed into the bathtub fully dressed and he…” she wipes away a stray tear. “He grabbed a razor blade and well... then I woke up.” 

“But it was a dream.” Went says, perhaps to reassure himself more than her. “He’s alive, Maggie.”

She shakes her head. “It felt too real to me _just_ that and the fact that when I woke up I had a notification for a week old news report in Derry? Went, that cannot be coincidental. You know that. _I_ know that.” 

“God, what kind of fucking _Twilight Zone_ bullshit is this?” Went groans. “But he’s okay right now.”

“I mean as okay as he can be going back _there._ ” 

“Well, we keep an eye on him when he comes back, right?”

She shrugs, opening and closing her mouth as she attempts to find the words to say. “What about Stan? Or Eddie?”

“What about them?” His brow creases in consternation. 

“I think they were dead in my dream, Went.”

“What? How can you know that?”

“He was talking about them in my dream like they were.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure they had to be.” 

“I mean,” Went shakes his head, blinking wildly. “We will have to mention this to Richie.”

“I can’t tell him about _this_.” She hisses. 

“I’m not saying everything.” Went says slowly. “I mean _we_ could find out where they are now, couldn’t we? If we’re able to research Derry, doesn’t that mean we can track the other Losers, now too?” 

“But I don’t know how they died, Went.” She shakes her head. “And what if us interfering like that gets Richie killed or kills the rest of them.”

“Maybe things are different now.” He repeats his previous belief with a touch more conviction than he’d had earlier.

“But maybe they aren’t and is that really something we can afford to gamble with?”

“I mean we’re already gambling with the fact that Eddie and Stan might be killed and then our son kills himself after that.” Went snaps. He winces at the tone in his own voice but Maggie cannot fault him. This is a situation unlike any other and to have a calm and collected reaction to anything is next to impossible. She rests a hand atop of his own clenched fist. He seems to relax slightly at her touch but the tension is still radiating off of him in waves.

“I’ll bring it up to him but I don’t think this is something we’re meant to be involved in… not the way I think Richie has to be.” She sighs. “I don’t even know why he had to go there.”

“Maybe we’re overreacting.” Went suggests in a scant attempt of optimism. 

They know they aren’t and there is something sinister awaiting their son in Derry fucking Maine. They don’t know what but given the brief encounters they’ve had with whatever has contributed to the amnesia Richie has suffered from and the addiction that may not have been spawned by this evil entity but surely worsened from it, they know nothing remotely decent can come out of this visit. 

xXx

Much to their surprise, Richie lives up to his word and does actually call once he’s off the plane in Bangor—not that it would have been a problem had Richie neglected his word as Maggie and Went were in no mental state to even consider retiring to their beds for the night. Their bodies were physically buzzing with anxiety in the incessant cracking of their knuckles, rolling of their shoulders, churning of their stomachs, and bouncing of their arthritis-ridden feet. They would have bombarded his phone with phone calls the minute they suspected enough time had passed for him to have officially landed on the east coast. 

When the phone does ring, Maggie’s heart leaps into her throat when her son’s name lights up her screen. The second ring barely has time to fully sound off before she’s swiping right to answer. 

“Hi, Rich.” She greets quickly and Went sits up straight. She takes it upon herself to hit the speaker button and set the phone down on the middle of the table. “I’m with your dad here.” 

“Oh you’re not with the other guy you’re seeing,” He attempts at a joke, voice wavering. 

“Not this time.” She responds, electing to indulge his humor to potentially alleviate some of the feelings he’s currently experiencing. 

He laughs mirthlessly and clears his throat. “Sorry for calling you guys so late over there and about hanging up on you so suddenly”

“Do you really think we slept after all that, Rich?” Went chimes in. “How are you doing right now?”

“I didn’t think you would be.” Richie responds. “I’m currently driving the epitome of a midlife crisis from the rental car place.” 

“How are you doing, though?” Went repeats, ignoring his son’s attempt to stray from the situation.

“I don’t know.”

“What exactly happened, Richie?” Maggie asks. “Why are you in Derry.”

“I made a promise I guess?” He says with uncertainty. “Mike Hanlon called me before the show and I guess… I guess we’re gettin’ the band back together.” 

“All of you?” She blinks in surprise at that and something turns in her gut as she thinks back to her nightmare and about Eddie and Stan. 

“According to Mike, yeah.” 

“That should be interesting… right?” Went inquires. 

“I don’t know.” Richie admits. “I just remembered this place existed like a few hours ago and now I’m supposed to see all my _friends_ for the first time in twenty-something years _tonight_.” He grouses, clearly exhausted as a result of jet-lag and the sudden three hour time-zone shift. 

Went elbows Maggie gently. She glances up and he mouths _‘Stan and Eddie’_ to her. Her shoulders slump forward but she knows she has to bring this to attention especially as her son is going to be around them and their lives could be very well on the line.

“Are you excited to see everyone?” She wants to kick herself at the stupidity of the question. Her son is returning for some bastardized version of a reunion with friends he’s not seen in two decades, not going back to elementary school after an entire summer spent away at one of the sleep-away camps that parents who weren’t overly fond of the duties that parenthood entailed sent their children. 

“I think?” Richie squeaks, insecurity audible in his voice. Maggie cannot pretend she’s surprised about the doubt he is certainly feeling about seeing the Losers after such a long time. God. He’s going to see _Eddie Kaspbrak_ —a boy she once longed to protect from a mother (she hopes is fucking stuck in the dirt now) and a boy who had been her son’s first love that no “secret” boyfriend could have ever matched up to in the depths of his amnesia riddled mind and heart.

“You should be.” She attempts and Went shoots her a glare knowing that she’s avoiding the subject that needs to be addressed. “But I want you to be on your toes, Richie.”

“What?” Richie asks slowly, perturbed by such a request. 

“I don’t feel… the _best_ about this trip and I am worried about you and your friends so please keep an eye out for yourself and for them.” Went nods, encouraging her to disclose further. “Especially Stan and Eddie.” Went seems content with that and nods his approval in her attempt to forewarn Richie (without revealing too much and possibly causing more problems for her son) of uncertain events from a potentially prophetic dream that may be absolutely nothing but a result of her deeply rooted paranoia that came about once she became a mother and has only enhanced with the abundance of horrors that seem to follow her family like a moth to a flame. She forces a laugh. “You know how much I loved them.”

“Eddie…” Richie processes the name; testing it in his mouth. 

“Eddie Kaspbrak.” Maggie echoes.

“Eds.” Richie laughs and it sounds wet and she can hear him swallowing back the flow of emotions over the phone. “Oh wow.” He sniffles. 

“Yeah, you remember him.”

“I think I do.” Richie takes a deep breath. “I think you loved all my friends more than me, mom.” Richie chuckles, attempting to ground himself once more. “You always had snacks for them—holy shit, that’s right! They were always over at our place.” 

“Yeah.” Went says. “We always had a full house with you—”

“ _LOSERS_ !” Richie shouts, the sound of a hand slamming against the wheel of a car filtering through the speakers of her phone. “MOTHERFUCKER. That’s… that’s a _thing_ right?”

“Yeah, Richie. It is.” Maggie answers. “I know this is a lot right now—”

“You’re telling me.” Richie mutters. 

“And you’re probably stressed out, but it’s going to be alright I think.”

“I hope.” Richie is silent for a beat. “I just don’t even know what’s really… _real_.” 

“I know and I’m sorry we couldn’t help you more. We really did try when we first moved.”

“I know you did. I remember that, I think.” Richie says softly. 

“Why do you guys have to go there, Richie?” Went presses. 

“I don’t really know to be fully honest.” He says truthfully. “Mike told me some _stuff_ but honestly, I can’t really remember. I got sick right away and hung up on him so he just texted me the details of everything I had to know for tonight.” 

“Okay.” Maggie breathes out slowly. “If anything feels off… I want you to get the fuck out of there and come straight back here, okay?”

“Ordering me around from the comfort of _my_ home Magma?” Richie snickers.

“Richie.” She deadpans.

“I know. If anything seems… off, I will get the fuck outta Dodge as fast as fucking possible—motherfucker.” Richie hisses and in a high pitched voice he grumbles “Welcome to Derry!”

“You made it?”

“Yeah… I just have to find this fucking Inn… god this town fucking microscopic. How the hell did Mike not go insane staying here.” Richie pauses for a minute, surely taking in the sights of where he grew up. “I bet there’s not even a vegan bakery here.”

“Richie, you aren’t vegan.” Went snorts. 

“Yeah? So? L.A. has like twenty thousand vegan bakeries and Derry probably has all high-fat bullshit that would definitely make all of my co-stars sob if they stepped foot over here.” 

Maggie shakes her head at that. Her son really is one of a kind and she can only hope that he is able to maintain this level of signature and absolutely genuine Trashmouth well into the night and not let the emotions surely wreaking havoc in his system prevent him from being his authentic self in front of the only people Richie really had found true friendship in (with the obvious exceptions being Steve and Jason but they were never just _friends_ the way that _most_ of the Losers had been). As she listens to Richie continue his ruthless commentary of Derry and all that it lacks in comparison to what he’s become accustomed to as a self-proclaimed California man, she wonders if all the other Losers have been as lonely as Richie has truly been these last several years. 

She tunes back into the conversation when he concludes his little rant with a soft sigh. 

“Well, I made it to the Inn and it’s fuckin empty here. God I swear if Mike is pranking me, I will not hesitate to bust his ass.”

“Richie, I don’t think you could kick anyone’s ass.” Went chortles. 

“I appreciate that, dad. Thanks.” Richie replies sardonically. “I think I’m gonna get checked in and take a nap for a bit before exploring the town a bit… I dunno. I kinda wanna figure out where our house is again.”

Maggie immediately spits out the address without hesitation.

“Well, that was easy.” Richie sounds mildly surprised. 

“Yeah,” She clears her throat, “Please call back before you see everyone for dinner, Rich.”

“I will. You guys get some sleep too, alright?” 

She knows an attempt at sleeping will be made but she is also more than aware of the fact that their sleep will be anything but restful. 

“We will.” Went reassures. “We love you.” 

“Love you too.”

xXx

As expected, Maggie and Went each struggle to fall into anything remotely close to a reposeful sleep. She is jolted awake multiple times by horrific images attempting to blend themselves into full-blown nightmares and Went simply cannot find it in him to drift into a blissful sleep as his heart beats a panicked rhythm as a result of the sudden amount of stress he and his family have been subject to in the last fifteen or so hours. It’s not long until the two of them surrender to an uneasy state of wakefulness and elect to putter around the kitchen, picking aimlessly at a bland breakfast-that-is-technically-a-late-lunch-given-the-time whilst waiting for Richie to return their call again.

“You thought of looking up Eddie and Stan, yet?” Went asks, sitting himself across from her with the only steaming cup of coffee he will be allowed to consume as recommended by his cardiologist. 

“I have, yes.” Maggie admits. “I will not be doing that, however.”

“I don’t blame you.” Went says. “It’s a big risk and it’s been a lot of shit for us these last few years with everything that has happened when we did try to get involved.”

She cannot help but feel stunned at this change of heart but is not one to question it. She wonders if he’s had his own nightmares.

“But how do you think they turned out. I mean we know what the rest are essentially doing what with their obvious publicity.” He chuckles softly, the vibration deep in his throat. “And Mike, well he obviously stuck around in Derry and never did get to go to Florida like he wanted.”

“Probably stayed on the Hanlon farm.” She muses, nibbling on a piece of plain toast. She ponders this for a moment, attempting to envision what the others made of themselves. “I hope Eddie became a doctor.”

“He used to ask me about that when they were younger.”

She smiles, remembering Eddie always bombarding her husband with an abundance of questions pertaining to the medical field. “Never understood why—you’re only a doctor of gums and teeth and shit.” She teases.

“Hardy-har.” He rolls his eyes, a tired smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. “I hope he did too.” 

“Stan was going to school for something in accounting, I think.” Maggie attempts to remember. She may not have forgotten the way Richie had but little details of his friends’ life, despite her best effort to keep their memories alive in her mind, have slipped past her fingers. 

“Yeah.” Went agrees with a bob of his head. “He was definitely going to pursue something in finances or whatever.”

“Do you think they got married? I know Ben never has. Bev is married to that fucking tool bag and Bill is married to that one actress, Audra Phillips.”

“I’d be surprised if Mike has… it’s not like Derry has the most _optimal_ choices around.”

“That’s mean, Went!”

“Is there really anyone you remember in their age group that would have been worth marrying outside of their little group?” Went thinks for a moment “That was _not_ killed back in ‘89.”

“Went!” Maggie scolds, kicking his shin from under the table. 

“I’m not wrong.” Went smirks knowingly.

“Well that may be true,” she sighs. “I hope somehow Mike managed to stumble upon someone that makes him happy.”

“Would he be inviting all his grade school friends over if he had?” Went challenges. 

Maggie shrugs. “You never know.”

“What abouts Eds and Stan-the-man?” 

“I can’t say.” Maggie answers honestly. “I don’t know who they are now.” And that sinks her heart more than she would have expected it to. Those kids had been like her own at one point and now they’re just mere memories—strangers. 

“I think Stan would have gotten married.” Went declares. “Eddie… I dunno. I mean Richie is—”

“So far in the closet he’s in fucking Narnia? Suffering from the world’s worst case of internalized homophobia that any therapist in a thousand mile radius has ever seen? I’m more than aware of this fact.” She gripes. 

“Well, yeah.” Went acknowledges, “But I just mean the fact that they were very clearly soulmates from day one.” He leans back, a wistful glimmer in his brown eyes. “Maybe he never could find anyone like Richie really couldn’t either. They both knew there really wasn’t anyone else out there for them even if they didn’t know _who_ was meant for them.”

“You’re a sap.” Maggie states bluntly but something lighter in her heart agrees with him. There really has only been one person for her son and she saw the way Eddie used to look at him. They were always meant for each other. Anyone could see that and maybe they too knew that somewhere in the abyss of their forgotten memories. 

“Jury’s out.” Went takes a long pull from his coffee. “Suppose Dickard will call soon?”

“I hope not. I hope he’s actually getting some sleep and not stressing himself out over dinner and being back there and all”

“Do you know our son but at all?” Maggie offers a glare in return. “I’m not saying I don’t hope he’s not running himself ragged over seeing them, but I don’t doubt he’s doing just that, Mags.” 

She sighs. “Do you think he’s going to remember why we made him leave?” She bites nervously at her lip. “Do you think he’ll blame me?”

“Mags,” Went’s expression falters into something pained. “No one blames you for anything that’s happened with that brain of Richie’s. We _had_ to get out of there. Richie was attacked and he was in danger. We were gonna move anyway for his schooling so all of this would have happened anyway. We already established that Richie and _all_ of the other Losers forgot everything after they left Derry. No one, especially _you,_ is to blame.”

She shrugs, unsure. “But he might not see it like that.”

“If he doesn’t, he’ll be in need of a new prescription,” he taps on his own glasses “in order to see through his own fucking bullshit.” 

Maggie snorts at that, but the doubt remains. “I regret moving us there but I also regret leaving.” She admits. 

“We could have never known it was going to be like it was.” Went tells her and she logically knows this but as a mother, even though her child is a full grown man capable of making his own decisions, she wants nothing more than to protect her son from anything that could potentially place him in harm’s way and it feels like moving to Derry and leaving Derry has simply set him up for more hurt than she could have ever anticipated for him. 

She smiles, unconvinced but perhaps a touch comforted by her husband’s words. She takes a brief glimpse at the clock. “Should be close to dinner over there soon.” She notes aloud. 

“Probably gonna make another attempt to sleep before he calls back.” Went emphasizes such an idea with a yawn, clearly not revitalized in the slightest by his caffeinated beverage. 

“Doesn’t sound too shabby.” She snorts, moving to pick up the dishes when her phone vibrates against the table.

“Or maybe not.” Went remarks as she answers the call after seeing that it is indeed their son. 

“Hi honey,” she greets, quickly putting him on speaker. “Get any decent sleep?” 

“Meh.” He responds, most likely having gotten the same mediocre quality of sleep they too have recently had. “I think someone else came in not long ago but I got too scared to see who.”

“You think it’s one of your friends?” she asks, her heart fluttering slightly at the prospect of Richie finally reuniting with someone that had once given his life so much meaning.

“Does anyone beyond a bunch of Losers that made a promise or whatever Mike was rattling on about come to fuckin Derry, Maine to vacation?” Richie chortles. 

She considers this thoughtfully as Went giggles at their son’s remark. 

“I um… I went by our house a few minutes ago and just got back and now I’m just staring at the wall.” He is silent for a beat. “Someone lives there.”

“I’m not surprised.” She says.

“Their kid is missing.” Richie whispers solemnly. “I...I got kinda nosy I guess and I saw their last name on the mailbox and their son has been missing since June.” He swallows thickly. “There’s a lot of missing kids here, guys.”

“That’s awful.” Maggie feels a heaviness settle in her gut.

“That happened before.” Richie says quietly. “Didn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Went answers. “It did.”

“Have you thought about trying to meet up with Mike?” Maggie asks, an attempt to change the subject.

“Fuck no. I don’t wanna see anyone until I _have_ to.” Richie hisses. “I don’t even want to fucking be here but I agreed to this shit and I’m not going anywhere right now.”

“Maybe you should… just to see someone before you guys all settle down for whatever Mike has brought you there for.” Went suggests. 

“I’d rather not go out on the town where people are literally disappearing left and right, guys.” He’s not wrong about that, she has to admit. 

“I think I might try to lay down again.” He snorts. “I should probably shower or Eddie Kaspbrak won’t even _think_ of sitting at the same table as me.”

Went waggles his brow at that to which Maggie flicks him in the forehead. 

“I’d say that would serve in your best interfest, Richie.” She agrees. “Call me back whenever you can, alright? And I’d also consider calling Steve at some point.”

“Got it.” He says. “Love you.” 

xXx

Richie calls again around the time Maggie is certain he should already be at the Jade and reuniting with his fellow Losers over dinner. 

“Richie, aren’t you at dinner yet?” She asks, removing herself from the living room so as to not disturb the nap Went has managed to settle down for (of which she is somewhat envious of). 

“I’m outside the Jade.” He says and his voice is soft and not what she was expecting to hear from him. 

“Are you okay, Richie?” She inquires. 

“You know some couple was attacked here last week.” He sounds on the verge of tears. “They threw one of ‘em off the side of a bridge.”

“I read about it, yes.” She admits. 

A sharp inhale. “It was a gay couple.”

“I know, Richie.” 

“We um… we moved because I was… because I _am_ — fuck. Nevermind.” He groans.

She slumps into a seat at the table. “Richie, you know you can say it to me.” He hiccups sadly. “I know. Your dad knows. _You_ know we know and it’s okay, Richie. It’s always been okay.” 

“It’s not completely clear, okay? I know it was part of it but I don’t know everything about why we left.” He takes a deep breath. “I mean it’s… it’s murky.”

“That’s okay. We can talk about it. _All_ of it. You don’t need to be ashamed Richie.” She encourages gently. “You never have to be—not around me, your dad, or anyone that actually matters.”

“I-I know. I just, I don’t— _Fuck._ I think I see Bev.” Her heart flutters at that as an image of fiery red hair crosses her mind. “And…is that _Ben?_ ” There is a clear shock in his voice. “GODDAMMIT, of course I’m the ugliest friend even now.” 

“Richie, you never were and you sure as hell aren't now. Shut up you asshole.” She scolds, somewhat put off by the shift in subject matter for it felt like they were finally gaining some traction on Richie’s obvious issues with his sexuality. 

“I guess I should make myself known.” He says uneasily.

“You better send them all over here to come say hi to their honorary mother.” She insists.

He laughs genuinely at that. “I wonder if they’ll all remember that I’m a complete mama’s boy.”

xXx

Maggie and Went don’t hear from Richie till later that evening in the form of a single text message a couple hours later that sends Maggie into hysterics. 

**Richie :)**

**Richie :)** **:Leaving the restaurant rn. Stan**

**attempted suicide last night. His**

**wife said they don’t know if**

**he's going to make it.**

Maggie rereads the text a good ten times before the words finally process through her frazzled brain. A hand floats to her mouth as sobs begin to wrack her form.

“What is it?” Went immediately leaps up, eyes wide with concern. 

Her jaw quivering, she slips the phone to her husband, unable to vocalize the words her son has just sent. He takes it and scans the message, shoulders dropping dramatically as he slumps back against the couch. 

“What?” He breathes out, the words choked in his throat. He meets her tearful eyes with his own misty ones. “Holy shit.” 

The phone buzzes again and Maggie snatches it without thinking from her husband’s hands to see what else Richie has said; perhaps this is his idea of some cruel and morbid joke that mimics the shock factor that some other comics tend to rely too heavily on. Maybe Stan is right there giving him the same piercing glare he’d mastered as a child and telling him to stop spreading such nonsense. She wants that to be true. She doesn’t want that hint in yesterday’s nightmare to be a reality because she _knows_ what could transpire if things continue to fall in line with what she saw. But Maggie knows that cannot be the case. Richie would never joke about something so vital—not even if his bullshit writing team told him to. 

**Richie :)**

**Richie :)** **: I think I’m going to come**

**home. I don’t think I can stay**

**here anymore.**

**Maggie** **: That’s totally fine. Book a flight**

**ASAP. Please keep me**

**updated on Stan. Do they**

**know anything else?**

**Richie :) :** **Not yet. Bev just called and**

**found out after I yelled at**

**some fucking kid.**

**Richie :)** **: I fucking hate this place mom.**

**I never want to step foot**

**here again.**

**Richie:) :** **Holy shit Tell Steve to NEVER**

**book me in Maine. This whole**

**fucking state is a goddamned**

**nightmare.**

****

She makes a mental note to relay such information to Richie’s manager since she knows damn well Richie is not going to be communicating any of this for as long as he’s in that hellscape of a town.

**Richie :)**

**Maggie** **: I will. Are you okay? How is**

**everyone else doing right now?**

**Do you need us to come there?**

**Richie :)** **: NO. Do NOT come here. Please.**

**I don’t want you and dad**

**involved in this fucking shit** ****

**show. I'm gonna book a flight**

**home rn. See you soon.**

****

“Richie says he’s coming home now.” Maggie informs her husband who is presently chewing on his thumbnail, surely driven mad by the fact that he’s somewhat out of the loop as Richie has elected to text her exclusively as opposed to utilizing their little family group chat.

“That should be good right?” Went wonders aloud. 

“I don’t know, Went.” She wipes at her eyes, still anguished by the news of Stan’s attempted suicide. “God. I can’t believe Stan would…” She shakes her head, unable to find the words to describe what she is feeling. Her phone buzzes again and she is quick to unlock the device.

**Richie :)**

**Richie :)** **: Change of plans. I’m staying.**

**Idk if I’ll be able to text for a**

**bit. Eddie says hi. Love you**

**guys.**

**Maggie** **: Richie are you sure you want to**

**stay there? Please think this**

**through.**

**Maggie:** **Tell Eddie we say hi and**

**we love him.**

**Richie:) :** **I have to. I made a promise.**

**I’ll try and explain later. Sorry.**

**Maggie:** **Richie I don’t think it’s a good**

**idea to stay there. This all**

**seems really unsafe to me.**

**Richie :) :** **I have to mom. I’m really**

**sorry.**

**Maggie:** **Richie, please don’t. This isn’t**

**safe for any of you guys.**

**Richie :) :** **Worse things will happen if we**

**leave mom.**

**Maggie:** **What does that even mean**

**Richie?**

**Richie :) :** **I really can’t explain rn.**

**Please just trust me on**

**this. I have to go.**

****

“Now he’s staying!” She exclaims.. 

“What? Why?” Went says, absolutely incredulous. 

“Something about this fucking promise?” She explains, shaking her head in exasperation. “I don’t know, Went. I literally have no fucking idea what he’s doing there. He isn't safe there— I know that much.” 

Tongue between her teeth, she attempts to rationalize with her stubborn mule of a son.

**Richie :)**

**Maggie** **: Richie I don’t think you should**

**stay in Derry. I think something**

**bad is gonna happen to you and**

**your friends. Please come home**

**or at least call me so we can**

**talk about this. I can't lose**

**you.**

She waits to see those three little dots to indicate that he is replying as Richie turned his read receipts off a _long_ time ago—he doesn’t have that level of petty in him that she has had on a multitude of occasions. He does not reply. 

xXx

Sleep manages to evade Maggie once again and leaves her heavy-lidded and groggy as she takes a long pull from the steaming cup of coffee Went has so graciously presented her with after serving himself with some as well. Neither of them managed to get anything remotely close to the medically recommended amount of sleep for adults in their sixties. The sun has yet to rise over the horizon and after tossing and turning and startling awake from their own twisted subconscious minds being warped with unadulterated fear, they have both surrendered to maintaining a wakeful state as they anticipate hearing _something, anything_ from their idiot son.

Her dreams had personally been plagued with gruesome images of her son’s death and more glimpses of him moving to end his life in the peculiar bathroom that the longer she observed it in the dream as was made possible for she was only there to watch it (for some wretched reason) and not _do_ anything as she desperately wanted to, it was very clearly a bathroom in a seedy motel room what with the oddly shaped bathroom fixtures that the cleaning staff had neglected to clean up to a health department standard and the miniature shampoo bottles lined up on the sink that were definitely cheap sample bottles filled with some _Great Value_ shampoo brand that someone had poured in. 

“Steve texted last night.” Went murmurs as he scrolls through his own cell phone. “Wanted to know how Rich was doing.”

“What’d you say?” She asks, her heart barely in the conversation as her focus is still on Richie and how he is doing and not the inquiries of his manager while kind and thoughtful are also more geared to her son’s career now that they’re no longer together.

“I said he was just stressed and going through a lot right now.”

“Did you mention Stan?” She didn’t want to use Stan’s suicide attempt as an excuse for her son but it would fit the narrative Richie had crafted of a famly emergency because to her, Stan and all the Losers were _still_ family. 

He shakes his head. “Didn’t feel right to bring it up without Richie.” She knows he’s right. “Do you think he’s going to make it?” 

God, that was a blunt question to ask this obscenely early in the morning but it was a thought that remained prominent in her own mind since reading the news from Richie. She wanted nothing more for Stan to make it and for that part of her dream to be false just so she could have something equivalent to reassurance that this was all in her head and nothing so gruesome as what she’d envisioned. 

“I don’t know, Went.” She answers truthfully. “I just don’t know about any of this right now.” 

He swallows quietly, allowing an unsettling silence to fall upon them as they ruminate their equally distressing thoughts and draining the coffee that will not be enough to make up for the last few nights of absolute restlessness. The tension is unbearably heavy around them and the fear physically vibrates beneath the surface of her skin. Even as she forces her eyes to remain open, thoughts of her son’s potentially endangered state flash through her brain; screaming thoughts that no matter how hard she tries to divert her attention to the bitter flavor of her under-creamed coffee or on the upcoming episode of _Survivor_ (because that show is still on the air somehow), she could not escape them. 

The hour passes slowly, the sky brightening as the sun slowly makes its presence over the horizon. Perhaps their anxieties are all for nothing. Surely, knowing her son, he is still on California time and not even awake yet. Nothing could have happened since he last texted her. He probably went to bed along with the rest of the Losers, surely distraught by the news of his best friend, but able to get some rest before fulfilling whatever oath he’d made with his other friends. Maybe the anxious feelings plaguing her all night was merely a result of being a mother and she’s been overreacting. 

But something suddenly feels different and it’s not simply because the caffeine is starting to do its job as she stares blankly at the wall across from her. She feels something she doesn’t think she’s felt in… in nearly thirty years. No. Twenty-seven years. She feels as if a weight she didn’t even realize she’d been shouldering for so long has been lifted and there is an abrupt sense of clarity in a mind she didn’t notice had been foggy for so long. She looks over to Went and his expression is one of confusion for he too is visibly experiencing this sudden sensation of bliss they didn’t even know they’d been lacking. 

“Went,” she starts.

He nods. “Yeah. Something… something feels different.” 

Something felt _better._

“Should we call Richie?” He asks because this has to be related to something involving Richie. She knows this. Went knows this.

“I think he’ll call us.” She says, surprised by her sudden lax nature. She heads toward the living room. She thinks she might be able to rest on the couch now.

“You’re right.” He says, following her.

xXx

And she is. But the texts that await her after steadily rising from a nightmare-free nap is not what she expects after falling into a state of calm she’d not felt in far too long.

**Richie :)**

**Richie :)** **: Eddie is in the hospital. He**

**might not make it.**

**Richie :)** **: He died twice on the way to the**

**hospital. He’s in emergency**

**surgery.**

**Richie :) :** **It’s my fault.**

The tranquility that had previously settled upon them vanishes upon reading the words and a sickening roiling in her gut and racing of her heart takes over such easy feelings. 

“Went.” She chokes out, glancing over to her husband dozing on the loveseat. “Went.” She manages to call more firmly.

“Guhfg.” He grumbles, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Eddie is in the hospital.” She says and that immediately snaps him into a more alert state. 

“ _What?_ ” He immediately asks, eyes bugging out. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” She cries and slides the phone over. Went scans it, visibly paling at the words. As the situation really processes through her mind, her anxiety begins to surge to astronomically high levels for everything is seemingly falling into place for the events of her most recent nightmare to befall upon her son. There is no certainty of whether Stan or Eddie will make it but she knows what the end result will come to be if things continue to move as sharply south as they have since Richie made his way to Derry.

“We have to call him.” Went decides. “He sent this about...” he taps around her screen to determine when Richie sent these dreadful messages “four hours ago so surely there has to be an update on his condition.”

She nods in agreement. “Put it on speaker.” 

He complies, placing it down in front of them, each ring enough to up the beat of her heart with desperate anticipation. 

“Yeah?” Their son croaks from the other line. His voice is slightly muffled and Maggie can only assume he is wearing a facial covering whilst in the hospital.

“Richie? What’s going on with Eddie?”

He releases a stuttering breath and in a strained voice he tells them, “Uh, he just got out of surgery.” So, not dead. Maggie can tell that much. Richie said surgery. Surgery on a _dead_ person is an autopsy. Richie did not say an autopsy. Richie takes an unsteady breath, “And the doctor told us that the next forty-eight hours are critical. He’s in the ICU for now.”

“Are you with him?” Went asks.

“I was. I stepped out to the waiting room to talk to you and so someone else could see him.” 

“Okay, that’s promising.” Went encourages. 

“He might still die though.” Richie whimpers, sounding nothing like the forty-year-old man that he is and more like the scared teenager he’d been when they’d inhabited that forlorn place. 

“I’m sure they’re doing everything they can, Richie.” Maggie attempts, her voice kind and slow. “It’s going to be okay.”

“It’s my fault.” He murmurs into the phone,

“I doubt that’s true, but what happened.”

“I can’t… I can’t.” Richie chokes.

“That’s okay. You don't have to right now.” Went responds in a mild voice. “

“I can’t be here anymore.” Richie sounds razzled, the whimpering tone melting into one that is breathy and uncontrolled as panic ravages through his system. “I need to get out of here.”

“Hey, hey,” Went starts. “You can’t leave. You have to be there for Eddie, Rich. I think you need to get one of your friends and relax.”

“I can’t! He won’t want to see me. I almost got him killed.”

“Honey, Eddie is your… your best friend.” She hopes the dynamic isn’t too different but with the way Richie is handling this, it is very clear the feelings he’s once had for Eddie have ignited overnight and are surely overwhelming him. “You can’t leave him right now.”

“They all know about me. They… Eddie, he probably thinks I’m sick and won’t want me near him.” 

“Eddie wouldn’t think that Richie.” Went states confidently. 

“He will.” Richie insists and Maggie is half tempted to get Went to call the Derry hospital to have someone get Richie out of the waiting room and sedate him with something. 

“Richie, you can’t doubt Eddie like that. You can’t doubt _any_ of them like that. Okay? They supported you then and they do now. It’s going to be okay. I think you just need to calm down and,” Maggie cannot believe she’s even saying this, “stay in Derry and be there for Eddie’s recovery.”

“I can’t.” Richie grunts. “His _wife_ is coming.” His tone is entirely venomous; jealousy and bitterness thick in each word. “She’ll probably forbid any of us from seeing us once she gets here.”

“Well then stay with him as long as you can.” Went sighs, his own disappointment at such information regarding Eddie’s marital status is clear in his expression and voice. 

“I’m… I’m gonna go back and sit with him I think.” Richie decides.

“Okay.” Maggie’s breathing begins to settle for it doesn’t seem like Richie is thinking of doing anything too impulsive as of now and is not thinking of fulfilling the second portion of her nightmare. Things feel safe. “Take care of yourself too, honey. You sound exhausted and I know damn well you’re not eating or drinking anything that isn’t caffeinated.”

“So pouring red bull into my coffee wasn’t a good idea?” Richie manages to tease and she feels a tad lighter. 

“That better be a joke.” Went snips. 

He hums back quietly, clearly wiped from the day’s events. “I’ll talk to you soon.” And then he hangs up.

Maggie slumps back against the couch, shaking her head. She doesn’t know how to feel about all of this. She’s still not certain as to how Stan is doing and surely there has been some update on his condition but she knows it’s perhaps not best to bring up that particular subject while Richie is panicking over his other best friend (and ex if Eddie can be considered an ex since they never broke up but he is married but perhaps that’s just bullshit logistics that can be ignored for Maggie already has the sense that this wife is not anything that Eddie should have in his life) is currently hospitalized and in critical condition. 

She’s not even _there_ experiencing it as her son is and she feels significantly overwrought with the influx of such intense information pertaining to these (now) adults (that she will always see as goofy kids) whom are all like children to her even if she’d not seen them in twenty-two years. 

“Jesus.” Went says with a shake of his head. “Fucking Derry, that’s all I can fucking say.”

xXx

They don’t hear from their son for three days after that. They make attempts to text him, their own anxieties simmering within them with each call that goes to voicemail and text that goes unanswered. Her mind goes to dark places but she has to attempt to be rational and remind herself that Richie is dealing with an insubordinate amount of stress right now with having frozen up on stage, flying across the country, discovering that one of his friends had attempted to end his own life, and is now most likely exhausting himself as he waits for the person who’d once been the love of his life to wake up in a hospital in perhaps the most unforgiving and torturous towns in America. She knows someone from New York, like Steve, might argue that some armpit town in Jersey is more deserving of such a title— but they’ve never stepped foot in Derry and cannot possibly wrap their heads around the warped nature of that hellhole.

She wouldn’t even encourage them to step foot in that fucking place just to validate her point but here she is having to _encourage_ her son to stay for one of his closest friends and wait with bated breath to discover whether said friend is even alive still. She supposes no news is good news in this instance. 

With Richie still in Maine with no signs of returning anytime soon, she took the liberty of updating Steve last night on the circumstances of Richie’s sudden east-bound excursion. 

“I don’t know when he will be coming back and I don’t think it’s in his best interest to immediately get back on the tour.” She had told Steve over the phone.

Steve had sighed but sounded understanding. “Alright. I’ll have to announce that the next several tour dates are being postponed _again_ and I’m not gonna lie to you Mags, people are going to be upset with him and probably start making their own speculations.”

“Well can’t we just be honest without broadcasting all the details?” She had already told him that it was not in her place to tell him why Richie needed to go to Maine and that this was something too personal for the public to know which was all simply code for: Maggie knew something fucked up was going on beyond Eddie and Stan’s situation but she genuinely had no fucking idea what was going on with her son.

“I mean, yeah. But people are going to be presumptuous assholes because every celebrity uses a ‘family emergency’ as an excuse for falling off the wagon and ending up in some rehab facility.”

“What the fuck, why?” 

“That’s Hollywood, Maggie.” Steve had answered. 

“God.” She knew there was nothing more they could really do about the situation and whatever people wanted to assume, well, they would no matter what. “Alright. Just announce that I guess.”

“I will and I’ll be sure to get his publicist on some damage control for the fans that are going to be livid about the tour being put off again.” Steve informed her. “Just don’t let any impending headlines bother you too much, okay? We both know Richie is clean and that he’s doing okay right now.”

‘Okay’ wouldn’t be the term _she_ would use.

“You’re right. I really appreciate it, Steve.” And she did. Steve, while no longer with her son, still went out of his way to be so understanding and helpful and truly did more than any manager was obligated to do.

She was none too surprised that morning to see a few speculative articles while anticipating some reply from her son of how Eddie was doing. As Steve predicted, people were indeed making claims of her son’s supposed most recent stint in rehab and how an unnamed source could “truthfully” testify to having seen her son actually doing drugs in the dressing room the night he’d frozen up on stage. A load of horse shit but that was to be expected and although she wanted to reply to the nasty comments on the articles about her son, she withheld and decided as long as _she_ knew he was sober, that’s what mattered.

However, right now all she really wanted to know was how Eddie was doing and how in turn, her son was doing. She’d gotten bold the other and looked up Stan—and dear god, he was an accounted and his picture popped up on a LinkedIn account and he looked exactly the same as he had when they were kids just taller and more mature looking— and there was no evidence of any obituaries that would suggest that he had indeed passed. So that was somewhat promising in her eyes but she’d feel better if she could have some actual confirmation that her son’s childhood best friend was indeed alive. 

While gnawing at the bottom of her lip as she exited out of yet another blasphemous article about how Richie had actually joined a cult and was called to perform a human sacrifice before going on stage (which was easily the most interesting article of all about why Richie had acted the way he had on stage and why he was nowhere to be found at the moment), her phone lit up as Richie _finally_ decided to call her back. 

“Richie?” She greets in earnest, eliciting a dramatic head whip from her husband, who edges closer to her. 

“She’s just like her.” Richie sniffs out. 

“What?” Maggie quirks her brow up, putting her phone on speaker for Went to hear.

“His fucking wife is literally his fucking mom.” Richie cries out. “I’ve been saying I’ve been fucking his mom since we were kids when in actuality Eddie decided that _he_ wanted to.” 

“What happened?” She questions him, electing to ignore his vulgar commentary.

“She fucking kicked me out” He hiccups. “Now I’m getting the fuck out of this fucking town because I can’t fucking see him and I can’t handle being here another second.”

“Oh, Richie,” She says somberly. “I’m sorry. Maybe you guys can work something out with her. Is he awake yet?”

“No. She’s not going to let _me_ in there. Only me. She knows I’m sick and she knows it’s my fucking fault.”

“Richie, you are not sick.” Went states but his words go over their son’s head— his head filled with incessant self-doubt and a mass of insecurities that no amount of therapy or antidepressants could ever completely eradicate.

“He died again the other night for six minutes and I-I thought he was gone.” He sniffles. “I can’t be here anymore. I can’t live without him again and I just… I can’t know that he’s gone.”

“Richie, why don’t you go sit with—”

“I already left. I’m near the state line.” He continues talking, word vomiting everything that comes to his disturbed mind. “I took Eddie’s stuff before I left. Fucking everything because if he… if he dies, I just want a piece of him.” He whimpers.

“Oh Rich,” Went starts but Richie ignores him.

“I went to the Kissing Bridge before I left. I had to. You know I carved our—it doesn't matter.” He sighs. “I remember, we got attacked there and it was my fault then too, for being fucking stupid.”

“Richie you _aren’t_ stupid. That town is fucked up and you know that.”

“I couldn’t keep my hands to myself so those guys fucking attacked us.” A shuddering breath. “They should have hit me a little fucking harder.”

“Don’t say that.” Maggie demands, her heart pounding in the confines of its cage as Richie’s present mental state becomes more obvious to her and she knows he is in danger.

“I’m wearing Eddie’s sweatshirt. God, he’s still so small.” A wet laugh. “I killed Henry Bowers.” 

“ _What?_ ” Went exclaims. 

She staggers at that. 

“I mean no one’s gonna miss him or really give a singular fuck so I’m fine I think.” He chokes back on sobs. “He… he made my life so miserable as a kid and I just… I just remembered everything he did to me and I saw him on top of Mike so I fucking axe-murdered his mullet-wearing ass.”

“That _is_ self defense.” Went mumbles moreso to himself. 

“Richie it’s going to be okay.” Maggie tells him. “You’re going through a lot right now but I think you need to go back.”

“I can’t go back.” Richie panics. “I can never go back there. I need to get home or something. I don’t… I don’t know what to do. All of this was too much and I just—I really can’t.”

“Richie, please tell me where you are.” Maggie insists. 

“This is all my fault. Eddie is going to die and it’s because I didn’t listen to Mike.” 

“Richie, you need to calm down and pull over.”

“How can I calm down, dad? All the other Losers have something waiting for them even if Eddies does die. What do _I_ have? Fucking nothing.” He all but shouts over the phone, a rage in his tone that Maggie has rarely ever heard from her son. “Yeah, I have you guys with me all the time but you guys only did that because you fucking felt bad for me because I was all by my pathetic self.”

“Richie, that’s not true.” It might be, to an extent. She knows that. “We live with you because we love you and because you offered because you have a kind heart.” 

“I did because I was lonely and you guys are all I have and that’s by fucking default because you’re essentially obligated to fucking like me. I don’t have anything or anyone else. There’s nothing for me if Eddie dies because of what _I_ did... and fuck, even if he doesn’t, I still have nothing. I go back rememebring this shithole place and all the shit that fucking cl— happened to me and I have to return remmebering all that bullshit along with being a fucking puppet? I can’t fucking do it. I _won’t_ do it.” 

“Richie, it’s okay.” Maggie tries again. “It’s okay. You can do whatever you want. Just… just get somewhere and calm down, honey. You are being a tad irrational and I think you need to lay down. You’ve not slept, I _know_ that and I know you’re going through a lot right now and you need to get home.”

“I can’t come home. I did this. It’s my fault that Eddie got hurt. It should have been me and I just… I just fucking left him in Derry. He would have stayed for me. He would have been brave.”

“Richie, you can go back. It’s okay. No one is going to be mad at you for having to get out of there. His wife made you leave but you can still go back and be there for him once he wakes up.” Went explains to him. “Richie, match my breathing.” He takes a steady inhale, hoping their son will follow suit.

“He might not even wake up!” She hears him punch his fist into the steering wheel and her heart races as she knows he is definitely not in a state that is safe for him to be driving. Her heart lurches at the absolute hysteria in his voice and she thinks she might be sick as he chokes on his own tears. 

_This_ is what spiraled Richie to lock himself in that shoddy looking motel room and led him to take his own life in her nightmare. She is certain of that. She pleads, “Richie, please just pull over and we can talk through this. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not. I don’t know what to do.” Richie’s voice comes in short gasps as the anxiety attack he’s obviously experiencing takes hold of him. “This is my fault.”

“Richie, please pull over.”

“I can’t come home. I don’t have anything worth coming home to. I said Stan was the weak one but it’s me. It’s always been me.” 

A flicker of disappointment in her son for insinuating that Stan was anything less than great. “Richie, no.” Maggie begs of him. “It’s going to be okay.” 

Richie’s breath steadily evens out and he lets out a choked laugh, an unsettling sound. “Stan was smart. He knew what he was doing.”

“Richie _please_ stay on the phone with me.”

“I have to go.” He hangs up.

She calls him back.

“This is Dick Toaster, I’m currently fucking your mom. Please leave a message.”

She calls him again.

“This is Dick Toaster…”

Went calls him.

“This is Dick Toaster…”

Again.

“This is Dick Toaster…”

She leaves an abundance of voicemails into his inbox, hoping he will at least hear what she has to say, begging him to please call her back and to understand that things will be okay. He does have something worthwhile after coming home from Derry. He has them. They do not exist in his life solely out of pity as Richie has managed to convince himself. They love him. A lot of people love him. He just needs to be home and to take some time off. Surely they can work something out.

“This is Dick Toaster…”

Again.

“This is…”

“Sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service…”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. There's how Richie is handling this. I like fics where Richie stays because he loves Eddie so much but I decided I wanted to do something different? I'm just qUiRky I guess??? Not really. Lol. Idk. I feel like Richie just has so much internalized in him that staying there would freak him out more and after seeing the kissing bridge and remembering what happened to him and Eddie there 22 years ago on top of the shit with Henry 27 years ago and then just seeing everyone have a heading and potentially losing Eddie??? I don't think he would handle it very well and leaving just seems like an appropriate reaction to this version of Richie especially because he nearly left Derry completely after remembering the shit with Bowers... and on top of that... he killed someone??? Richie is going through it right now and is feeling impulsive and just not very cash money?
> 
> Is that stupid? Do you hate that? I'm sorry? Idk. It also just fits the narrative I'm creating for the dynamic Richie has with his mom and what is to happen in future chapters. I feel paranoid about this and that it's just gonna come off as dumb or weird or very OOC and ya'll gonna fuckin mcroast me but IDK I MADE AN ATTEMPT AT SOMETHING.
> 
> I definitely am writing myself into the shittiest of corners though so like we downhill from here. Please set your bar INTO THE FLOOR. <3 thanks. <3 I'm going through SHIT right now and my brain is very foggy so writing is hardbut this keeps me feeling busy and like I'm doing something productive. so yeah i am gonna FUCKING FINISH THIS FIC. i keep wanting to quit but I WON'T DO IT. so yeah. 
> 
> Also, happy pumpkin spice season. :) tell me about your favorite seasonal coffee/tea order idk. Since it's fall in my heart but not the weather, my favorite drink is the pumpkin cream cold brew but once the temperature drops below 75, i will be downing PSL with almond milk. :) lol richie cannot have that. he allergic to nuts in my universe <3 
> 
> Richie is so excited for Pumpkin Spice Lattes and all Eddie wants is Peppermint mocha. But he has to wait. Tragic.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote myself into a corner with that last one and I'm hoping I was able to write myself out of it and make some cohesive sense with this bit. I don't feel really confident that I did. I definitely have a ton of plot holes and an illogical timeline going on here and for that I'm sorry. 
> 
> I really struggled here and I really tried and I hope this ends up being okay. If not? I apologize in advance to you reading this EXTREMELY long boy. Seriously, v long. I think it's the longest chapter yet? Get a snack. Get a drink. Take a break. Call me a fuckin shit biscuit. Take over a country. Idc. 
> 
> VAGUE, MINUSCULE reference to one of my favorite poems in this one. i don't think anyone will catch it but if you do DAMN you can have this entire fic. it's yours. just write it. you're the captain, now. 
> 
> MAJOR TW: Discussions of two different suicide attempts, drug relapse, major mental health issues, and emotional manipulation and abuse; Honestly no one (especially Richie) is doing too hot right now because you know you don't go back to the town that drove you out of it bc homophobia, experience the deadlights, and nearly lose the love of your life unscathed.
> 
> fuck the idea that richie fuckin smiled while carving R+E. he WAS HURT.

Maggie knew everything there was to know about her son.

**February 1979**

Getting Richie to sit still proved to be a near impossible task the minute he figured out how to roll over onto his belly. Hell, who was Maggie kidding? Even  _ before  _ he achieved such a milestone, Richie was intent on making their lives spent walking on eggshells as they quickly realized that their son was not one to ever sit still the minute they got him home from the hospital in ‘76. 

He was always wriggling his entire body and kicking his feet at his parents’ faces throughout each diaper changing. He seemed to see it as some game; what had to be a mischievous smile despite the fact that he was literally an infant and supposedly not capable of such malice intent dimpling his plump cheeks each time Maggie or Went struggled to get a hold of him to ensure that nothing got  _ too  _ messy in that particular process. 

Then as he grew past that infantile stage where his movements were limited to dramatic back arches and flying fists and feet (and Maggie and Went would both use the term ‘limited’ extremely loosely) he found other ways to stress them out by nearly rolling himself off changing tables and beds when they thought they were safe to set him in the middle of their king sized mattress to simply turn around and grab their own socks and shoes for the day. Eventually this progressed into crawling which was a horror for all their low-sitting knick knacks and the kitchen cupboards that had been emptied by the devil himself in the time it took Maggie to find a pacifier to soothe Richie’s sore gums. 

But it got worse when Richie learned to walk across their living room floor (which Went will deny having cried at till the day he dies) and literally began running the very next day which made  _ all  _ activities infinitely more difficult and had the two of them constantly on their toes, unwilling to turn their head for even a millisecond for Richie was notorious for darting away to break something or managing to climb out of the bathtub buck ass nude and sprint around the house with no regard to the fact that his sudsy feet would inevitably slip from under him and he’d be left sobbing dramatically wherever his naked ass managed to topple over. 

Maggie, however, had discovered a few activities that got Richie to sit down and spend time with her—not that getting Richie to spend time with her was ever hard as he was a complete and utter mama’s boy. What was hard was getting him to sit still and not break something (or himself) in the process. One of these activities that got Richie to settle down for even just an hour was baking in the kitchen with her. Something about being close to her and having to help meticulously measure out things carefully and carefully mix together various ingredients was enough to ease Richie’s buzzing body into something resembling a relatively calm toddler. 

Today, with Went booked in the office and the tundra-like temperatures that prevented Richie from going outside to release his pent up energy, Maggie decided that baking cookies would be the best way to avoid some knick knack from shattering into a million pieces and to prevent Richie from getting yet another scrape or bump upon his little body to add to the collection of the marks that littered his limbs as testament to his hyperactive tendencies that not even the most focused parent could ever predict or get a handle on. 

When she got Richie out of his sleep-addled state and dressed for the day, she  _ knew  _ that it was either bake something sweet and relatively time-consuming or run herself absolutely ragged as he was already squirming uneasily in his booster seat at the table after finishing just half of his cheerios. 

As he’s shoving some of the last ones into his mouth, she slides close to him, moving her fingers through his voluminous curls that are probably long enough to be tied back into a fluffy ponytail but something she cannot bring in herself to cut away just yet as she knows some tykes completely lose their curls after cutting them for the first time. Logically, she knows Richie will be burdened with the throes of curly hair as she and Went both have hair that is definitely not straight—with his being more of a soft wave and hers being tight, kinky curls and Richie’s hair, while certainly the same color as Went’s near-black locks, is more similar to the texture hers had been at that age. 

“How would you like to bake cookies with mama today?” She coos softly at him as he hums happily at the touch of her hand carding through his hair.

“Mmm choco chip.” He agrees with a bob of his head.

She smiles at that. “Alright, finish your breakfast and mama is gonna grab the recipe so we can start. Can you hold still that long for mommy?” 

He nods in earnest, a toothy grin taking up his entire face. “Okay!”

She is fully aware that trusting Richie’s word is not something she can ever do when it comes to him sitting still so she’s sure to be quick as she fishes out the Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chips from one the higher up pantry shelves. She turns around swiftly to see that her son has not yet managed to throw himself out of his booster or initiate a nuclear attack anywhere so she elects to pull out some of the other ingredients listed on the back of the chocolate chip package. Carefully, she manages to not drop any of the ingredients as she crosses the kitchen floor to the counter where she sets out most of what they need for their cookies. 

“ ‘m done.” Richie declares, pushing away the bowl that still has two cheerios in it—obviously far too much leftover for him to even attempt to finish off so she takes it upon herself to swipe the two pieces for herself. She takes the bowl from him and places it in the sink before unbuckling Richie from his seat and moving him to sit on top of the counter.

“Tables are for glasses not asses.” He giggles, parroting the words uttered by his father far too many times for him, an impressionable toddler, to  _ not  _ begin saying it each time his ass was seated on the place indeed designed for glasses and not the posterior of a child. 

“Well when we’re baking it’s fine.” She smiles, pulling the package of chocolate chips to begin the process of baking with her son. “Alright, so first we’re going to preheat the oven to—what are these numbers, Richie?” Maggie always tries to incorporate at least some learning into their activities and it has proven to be helpful for him. 

“Hmm,” He purses his lips thoughtfully, eyes squinting painfully at the small font (for a reason she would not understand until later in his life). He pushes the package away farther from his face before informing her that the numbers are “thwee, sev’n, and five.”

“That’s good!” She cheers, pinching his round, freckled cheeks. “When they’re close together like that, you read it as ‘three hundred and seventy five.’”

“Thwee hunded and sev’nty five.” He echoes.

“Good job. That’s a  _ really  _ hot temperature which means you have to let mommy touch the oven. You know that, right?”

“Yeah! I don’t wanna burn ‘m fingers!” 

“We would not want that!” She agrees, pressing a kiss to the side of his head to which earns her a heart-warming laugh. He watches curiously as she sets the oven to preheat. “It’ll make a loud ‘ _ beep _ ’ when it’s done preheating and that means it’s warm enough for us to put the cookies in.” 

“What’s next?” He inquires, pointing at the recipe printed on the package. 

“We’re going to take flour, baking soda, and salt” she says, pointing at each of the ingredients lined up “and mix them together in a bowl.”

“I stir?” 

“You can, yes! But you have to be careful to not make a mess because it could go  _ everywhere!  _ Remember when we made daddy’s cake and it went  _ pooof?” _

Richie chuckles at that. “I be careful.”

She has her doubts but who is she to tell Richie no? She reads him the amounts of each ingredient as she pours them into a taller mixing bowl, hoping that the height of the glass will somehow prevent the dry ingredients from flying about as much with Richie’s chaotic hand doing the blending process. Maggie demonstrates a gentle mixing motion for him to hopefully mimic but as expected, a decent dusting of flour ends up sprinkled across his lap and on the counter. She cannot help but laugh at the mess, picking up some of the flour and dusting it onto his nose. 

“No!” Richie squeaks defensively, grabbing his own amount and throwing it at her with a loud chuckle. 

She pokes him square in the tummy, “You’re rotten, you know that?” She teases.

“Are not!” He pokes his tongue out, shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“Are so.”

“No!” He squawks out as she tickles his sides, head thrown back in genuine joy. 

“Oh, alright.” She complies smoothly. She wipes up the mess they’ve made, not bothering to add any more flour to the mixture for she’s always found that making a mess of the ingredient and losing a bit of it always makes the cookies a tad chewier. 

“Now, in a different bowl we’re going to mix some butter after I soften it in the microwave, some sugar, brown sugar, and vanilla extract.” She tells him, already putting the butter in the microwave even though she knows she could just let it soften naturally but she does not have the patience for that at all. 

“I stir that too?” He asks eagerly.

“Yessiree.” She unwraps the butter, plopping it into a separate bowl. 

She starts packing the brown sugar in a cup, allowing Richie to have the occasional clump she finds in the bag—something Went would be mortified to find that she allows him to do. She finishes adding those ingredients into a bowl and gives Richie a spoon to start stirring, again creating yet another dusty mess.

She sticks her finger into the creamed butter mix and sucks it right off. “Take only a little.” He of course attempts to go for a huge glob to which she disapproves of by removing it from the tip of his chubby index finger. “No.”

He scrunches his nose up defiantly but does end up taking only a small dollop. 

“Now, we add the eggs.” She tells him. “Mama is gonna crack them because this can be kinda hard.” It definitely is not hard to crack an egg but it is far too easy for someone, especially Richie, to make a mess.

He nods as the oven  _ beeps _ loudly, indicating that it is hot enough for their unfinished cookie dough. 

“Uh oh.” He says, pointing to the oven.

“It’s okay. Sometimes it’s a little faster than us.” She informs him, cracking two eggs into their mixture and sliding it over so he can contribute his sloppy stirring once more. She ends up taking over the duty for he barely gets the yolks fully broken before deciding that his arm is tired. 

“Now we’re gonna add this bowl to that one and then we can add the chocolate chips!” 

He beams at that. “Eat some first?” 

“Why of course.” She chortles, mixing in the flour on her own as it takes some elbow grease on her part with how thick the mixture has become that she knows it’ll be too difficult for him to even attempt. Maggie opens up the chocolate chips and starts stirring those in, making sure to leave a decent amount in the bag and handing them over to Richie who happily begins to pick at them. 

“Yum.” He declares, popping one into his mouth as he kicks his feet excitedly. 

She opens her mouth for one and he gives a thoughtful expression before shaking his head no at her.

She feigns offense, gasping loudly. “ _ What? _ None for your mommy?”

“Nope! Mine.”

“Well, I guess  _ all  _ these cookies are gonna be mine then.”

“No!” He whines loudly, thrusting a single morsel in her direction. 

She laughs at that, pressing a kiss into his mess of curls. “Thank you sweetie.” She grabs a few cookie sheets, greasing them up before shaping some of the dough in between her hands and starting a row. 

“ ‘m bite of dough?” Richie asks, garbling around the rest of the chocolate chips he’s stuffed into his mouth. 

“Only a little. Too much cookie dough will make your belly sick.” She tells him, not even certain if that is a complete fact for she has admittedly consumed tons of cookie dough in her lifetime and has never found herself ill as a result. But when it comes to the health of her son and the amount of cookies she wants to get out of this batch, she is putting her foot down and not encouraging the overconsumption of raw cookie dough. 

She gives him a small spoonful which he eagerly devours while she empties the bowl of the dough and shapes them into small little spheres to flatten out into chewy cookies for them to inhale later on.

“Alright, the first two pants are ready to go in!” She announces, slipping on some fuzzy oven mitts as she slides the first two sheets on separate racks and setting a timer for eight and a half minutes. She knows the recommended time is nine to eleven minutes but she and her family have always preferred their cookies a tad softer (also read as: underdone). 

“All done.” He grins, handing her the spoon and lifting his arms up expectedly. She balances him on his hip as she begins cleaning up their mess. She loads the dishwasher up after rinsing the residual ingredients from the dishes, hip bumping it shut. There’s no need to start it just yet since she still has to add the cookie sheets once everything is done baking. 

In the time it takes her to finish cleaning up their mess, the timer beeps loudly. She sets him down on the floor, away from the oven. “Stay there. It’s going to be very hot, okay?” 

He nods in understanding as she grabs the first pan out and sets it on the counter and adds the last two batches in, resetting the timer. She grabs two cooling racks and waits for an extra minute before taking a spatula and placing the cookies on the rack.

“We can have some once they’ve cooled, okay?” She tells her son, eyes hungry with excitement as he stares at the treats before him.

“How long?” He demands to know, lower lip sticking out in a pout.

“Ten minutes.” 

An exaggerated groan as that amount of time is far too long for a nearly three-year-old to possibly wait for. She shakes her head with laughter, booping him gently on the nose. 

“It’s okay, Rich.” She reassures. “Once these next ones are done it’ll be about time for us to have these ones!” 

He considers this and with a dramatic sigh he says, “Okay.” He then crosses his arms over his chest, staring impatiently at the oven.

“Why don’t we clean up the floor so it’s nice for daddy?” She suggests, pointing to the flour that is still sprinkled across the floor from their impromptu food fight. 

“Okay.” He beams excitedly. She grabs a dust pan for him to which he holds flat on the ground as she sweeps the mess into the pan. They end up having to repeat this twice for Richie is always quick to stand up straight once she declares that she is done and accidentally dumps out the contents with the sharp movement. 

As she takes the pan from him and dumps it in the garbage can, the timer for their final batch goes off and he already has taken the liberty of edging away from the oven, eyes staring hungrily at the batch cooling on the rack which should be just about ready for their consumption. She takes the first one out and places it on the kitchen island, followed by the final one. She turns around to close the door and turn the oven off. Unfortunately, she realizes too late that she should’ve pushed the sheets away from the edge of the island when Richie screams in agony, impatiently having reached for a cookie from the still hot pan rather than going for the ones on the cooling tray.

“Shit!” She yipes, feeling like a complete fucking idiot for not reminidng her son to not touch the pan again. Guilt surges in her heart and the niggling voice in the back of her mind that wants to always convince her that she’s a bad mom gets a little louder as she rushes over to him and picks him up. 

His fingers are an angry red as he holds them protectively to his chest, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he chokes on a pained sob. She can already see where the skin is starting to turn white where it’s going to blister later. She starts running some slightly-below room temperature water to soak a rag to tug his stinging hand into since she knows that putting it directly under the water source will do nothing except shock the area and enhance his pain further. 

“I know, I know.” She soothes, wrapping the rag around his injured hand as he wails loudly.

“I no mean to.” He cries out, clenching his eyes shut. 

“It’s not your fault. We just gotta be more careful.” She bounces him once for good measure. “Mama was silly and left the plan too close to the edge. I’m so sorry, baby.” 

“ S’okay.” Richie whimpers pathetically as she carries him into the half bath and rummages through some of their first aid products to find some antibiotic cream and a bandage for the burn on his hand.

She places him on top of the closed toilet seat (because she can at least remember to do that thank God) and scoots close to him. “It’s okay. I know it hurts a bunch, huh?”He nods miserably. “We’re gonna get it all wrapped up and it’ll still hurt some for a while but we will make sure it gets better real fast.”

“Okay.” He mumbles out as she unwraps his hand, exposing the raw skin to the air which quickly triggers a pained gasp from him. 

“I know.” She murmurs in understanding, fanning the area with the cloth as he squeezes his eyes shut, sniffling softly. “This is going to feel a little cold but it’s going to help, alright?”

He nods, a few more tears rolling down his soft cheeks. She squeezes a dime-sized amount onto her fingers and begins gently rubbing it across the skin, whispering kind words into his ear as she does so, maintaining an aura of calm as she feels her own anguish for the pained sounds coming from her little boy. She carefully wraps his hand, ensuring that it’s snug but loose enough as to not irritate it more. She figures she should probably leave it on long enough for a nap, let it breathe for a bit after that before reapplication later. It’s nothing too serious per se, but it’s inflamed enough that she knows it’ll require an eye on it for a day or so. 

“There we go.” She says kindly, rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades.

He holds his arms up, wrapping them securely around her neck as she carries him out of the bathroom. “Good ‘s new?” He speaks into her collarbone.

“Good as new.” She affirms. 

“Cookie?” He asks.

“Of course.” She carries him into the kitchen, balancing him upon her hip as she takes the newer cookies off the sheets that are guilty of burning her son. “How about this one?” She suggests, pointing to one that seems to have gotten more than the typical ratio of chocolate chips stuffed into it.

He nods slowly against her, clearly exhausted by the exertive task of baking cookies and getting burned by said cookies. She hands it to him and he begins nibbling cautiously, relaxing more into her hold as she loads up the rest of the dishes. 

Maggie carries Richie into the living room, perching herself up against the armrest and some extra throw pillows as she extends her long legs across the couch while Richie lays peacefully (and still just a bit tearfully) upon her chest as he finishes his cookie, visibly ready for a nap as she turns on some daytime television and lowers the volume for she is more than aware that today has been more than enough for her son and he’s going to fall victim to his own little body’s need for a nap sooner rather than later. 

“How’re you feelin’ sweetie?” She asks him, carding her fingers through his curls.

“ ‘m ‘kay.” He mumbles sleepily into her collarbone, dusky eyes meeting hers. “Thank you for bakin’ with me.” 

She smiles, softening slightly. He still had  _ some  _ fun she can assume. “I love baking with you, sweetheart. I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“It’s okay, mama.” He waves his hand in front of her face and reminds her that he is, “Good ‘s new.” 

“Yes it is.” She chuckles. 

“I ‘ove you, mama.” He yawns, snuggling close to her. 

“I love you too, Richie.” She says into his fluffy locks, continuing a gentle movement through the tendrils. His breathing grows slower as exhaustion takes over and he sinks into a relaxed nap. With him snoring softly against her, she feels unadulterated love and adoration for the little boy that is truly the best piece of her resting against her chest. 

However in the midst of the blissful state they presently rest in, her heart feels slightly heavy in her chest as she feels like him getting hurt is all a result of her being a careless, dumb mother. Logically, she knows (and Went would tell her so too) that this kind of shit happens to all mothers and she’s bound to have a mess up or two along the run and she should know she’s going to make future mistakes with her son and all she can do to make up for it is ensure that he feels  _ so _ loved—God, she hopes she continues to do that right. 

xXx

**August 2016**

As Maggie sits on a plane heading toward Bangor, Maine, her head resting upon her sleeping husband’s shoulder, she wishes to go back to a time before anything beyond a hot cookie sheet could hurt her son for she doesn’t quite know how to handle the type of pain he was feeling before disconnecting his phone and running off to do who knows what (and fuck she hopes it’s not to fulfill the images she saw in that dreadful night terror). She wishes she could hold onto little moments like that for just a moment longer, to hold onto him and to look into soft blue eyes, innocent for they’ve not witnessed all the undue pain the world had in store for him.

It was a last minute impulsive decision to hop on a plane across the country but after hearing the soft voice of a daughter she’d once lost, she knew she and her husband had to get their asses over there as it could be just the only way to get a hold of her son who was quite frankly, scaring the everlasting shit out of her. 

Beverly Marsh had been able to get their number from Mike Hanlon as he had managed to dig up their numbers too, while apparently scouring the ends of the Earth for the other Losers’ contact information in order to bring them all back to the hellscape that was Derry. 

After an hour of them panicking about what to do after Richie’s phone had been disconnected and they’d made several attempts to ring him up again, her phone buzzed as an unfamiliar number popped up from her screen, the area code being not anywhere she was familiar with—Went said he believed it was Chicago. They soon learned he was right as the famed designed Bevery Marsh did indeed live in Chicago. 

“Hello?” She had said uneasily, hoping to hear her son’s drained voice on the other end.

“Hi, is this… is this Maggie Tozier?” A voice she remembered instantly as the voice that had called her and warned her about her son’s impending overdose back in ‘99. 

“Yes this is her.” She had answered slowly. Went looked up at her from his place on the loveseat where he’d been scrolling through his laptop in an attempt to find a way to track their son.

“Hi um, you may not remember me but this is—”

“Beverly Marsh.” She’d gasped out as she could not contain herself. She  _ knew  _ who that voice belonged to.

“Uh, yeah.” Bev responded, audibly startled. “You remember me?”

Maggie huffs a laugh. “I never forgot you, honey. I never forgot any of you.” 

“Wow, that’s… wow.” Bev was clearly at a loss for words before getting back on track to the subject at hand. “I am calling because well Richie ran off and we were all wondering if you’d heard from him. We just want to make sure he’s okay and for him to know that he can come back. No one is upset with him. We just want him to be here because Eddie is awake and has been asking for him.”

“Oh my God.” Maggie had breathed as relief melted through her body. 

“What is it?” Went had inquired, leaning his body close to hers. 

“Eddie is alive.” She had told him, tears of joy slipping down her cheeks. “Oh my God. Thank you Bev for telling me this. I...I… is Stan okay?”

“Yeah.” Bev had answered calmly, not deterred at all by the divergence in focus away from the present problem of Richie’s disappearance. “His wife called Mike this morning. They’re going to keep him under observation for a few days but they know he’s going to be okay.” 

“That’s—that’s great.” Maggie had sighed, her nerves while still frayed with the sudden absence of her son, were easing to an extent. “As for Richie… we talked to him and he was in great distress.” She swallowed thickly at that, a cloud of darkness reentering the room, dampening the light that had beamed upon them with the news of Stan and Eddie. 

“Yeah, we all kind of sensed that.” Bev admitted. “He was extremely upset when Eddie’s wife arrived and it wasn’t long until after that, that he just left and we all tried to call and his phone—”

“Disconnected.” Maggie had finished with an unsteady exhale. 

“Yeah.” Bev replied with sorrow. “We aren’t sure what to do but I… we all are worried for him.”

“I know. Went and I are too. We honestly have no idea where he could be. Last I talked to him, he was on the state line and we are trying to figure out ways to potentially track him. His manager is going to get the credit card company on the phone and try to explain the situation but that could take a while.”

“That’s a good start. I mean we could be of some help if you’d wanna come here or we can do it over the pho—”

“We’ll be there.” Maggie decided for she knew that Derry, with all of its faults, could quite possibly be the answer in helping her find her son and to know what exactly had spawned all of this turmoil over the last twenty-seven years, and the subsequent amnesia-like state that followed him upon leaving that place. 

Went whipped around, surprised by such a declaration. “We’re what now?”

She waved him off, focused on her conversation with Bev. “We will see you soon.”

“Alright.” Bev had acknowledged. “We’re all staying at the Derry Townhouse. We can book a room for you guys and cover it and—”

“Bev, you guys don’t need to do that.”

“Well that’s our job for the parents of the Losers.” Bev insisted heartily. 

“Always been too sweet.” She smiled to herself, heart vaguely light despite the circumstances. “I...I have a question Bev.”

“Yeah?”

She knew this was something that had to be addressed for maybe it was linked to her own nightmares as well. “Did you,” She swallowed thickly. Her heart had been racing in her chest as the thought popped into her mind, words sizzling the tip of her tongue. “Did you call me in 1999 to warn me about when Richie was about to die?”

Bev went silent over the line. “No.” She had lied. “No I don’t—I did not, no.” 

“Alright.” Maggie elected to let it slide as she already knew the truth. “We will see you later, I guess.” Maggie told her and now they were just a couple of hours away from landing.

She moves her head from her husband’s shoulder, careful not to jostle him with the movement and peers out the window to view a world of fluffy clouds. It’ll be early in the morning by the time they land—although her own biological clock will be convinced that it’s extremely late at night and that she should be in bed. However, even if she were at her (well technically, Richie’s) Californian home, she’d be wired awake with the adrenaline and anxiety that has riddled her since her son disconnected his phone. Hell, she’s been plagued with this most recent bout of extreme stress with the brief moment of light that came just before the news of Eddie’s near-death experience since Richie first left for Maine. 

She feels a gentle squeeze to her hand and turns to see that Went must have woken up when the soft weight of her head was removed from his shoulder. “Back into the belly of the beast?” He says.

“Hush.” She murmurs, retucking her head under his jaw. “The beast is dead.” She doesn’t know what she means by that but it feels right to say for whatever had inhabited her dreams and weighed upon them these last few decades is certainly gone and now they just have to deal with whatever continues to weigh upon their son and that seems like an even more daunting entity.

xXx

Went and Maggie end up not taking the same route as Richie and do not rent a car that screams midlife crisis. Instead, they settle for a humble 2012 Toyota which safely gets them from the Bangor Airport car rental place to the Derry Townhouse where they see several other more  _ elite  _ cars parked which she can only assume belong to the now immensely successful (in terms of their career, emotionally is a totally different story) Losers. 

She knows that none of them are presently there as Bev texted her, informing her that they’d already left in Mike’s van to check in on Eddie after an early lunch. Bev had offered to stay and wait for them but Maggie could only fathom how traumatic it had been to witness Eddie nearly die and she had encouraged them to spend as much time with Eddie as they could (or as much as his apparently tyrannical wife allowed them). There was no need for them to sit around in a dingy looking townhouse (that was probably five-star by Derry standards but questionable for anyone with a singular sane brain cell), twiddling their thumbs, waiting for her and Went to arrive. 

She grabs her small duffle, having packed lightly for she assumed (and desperately hoped) they would not be here beyond a day or two. Went slings his own over his shoulder, grabs her hand and walks toward the entrance. Oddly enough (or not so much according to the Losers), no one is working behind the check-in counter and after a few taps upon the call bell, Maggie decided to slip around the counter and swipe a key out of the key box for the room that Bev had told her that she’d reserved for her and Went. 

“Same ol’ Derry.” Went observes aloud, a soft laugh breathing past his lips. 

“It does  _ feel  _ different here.” She admits as they ascend up the stairs. It does. It really does. Sure, she’s certain Derry still has the same smalltown values it always had, what with the everyday racism and homophobia, but there’s a significantly less oppressive sensation over the town compared to what she remembered upon leaving. Granted, they were leaving after her son had been brutally assaulted but even before  _ that,  _ there was just something so off about Derry that she could never quite identify.

Regardless of this more abstract improvement of the town, she is quite deterred by the lack of service tand the general lack of basic upkeep this inn seems to have. She, while not too old to endure steps, is a little bitter of the lack of elevator— primarily because of Went’s heart. But because of the supposed old-fashioned charm this shoddy looking inn has, there is no need for an elevator to be installed. Hell, the place probably isn’t even up to code and probably  _ can’t  _ have an elevator put in without being knocked down to its bare bones and foundation first. 

She sets her stuff down next to a bed that is certainly going to feel like a rock in comparison to the plush mattress her son had bestowed upon them when they first moved into the guest house of his Malibu property. However, if it means seeing her secondary children and potentially getting a lead on her son, it’s well worth it. She hopes this is all easier done than said for her the anxieties and graphic images flashing across the forefront of her brain are incredibly distressing and she wants nothing more than to see not only them but to have her son in her arms again and to comfort him as she has since he was small. 

In normal circumstances, Maggie and Went might take a nap after traveling, especially after travelling across the country, but these times beg for them to stay on their feet and head off to the hospital without even considering a break. The weather is significantly cooler here than it’d been in L.A. so she wisely exchanges her loose fitted blouse for a sweatshirt she’d smartly packed while Went does the same, tugging on a well-loved crewneck atop of his fancy-schmancy looking polo that Richie had bought for him. 

Without hesitation, they exit their room and head back out to the car, and with a muscle memory that had somehow permanently ingrained itself into she and Went even after twenty plus years away from Derry, they manage to get to the local hospital without even glancing at the pin Bev had dropped them or using Apple Maps—which would probably have served to confuse them more than help them anyway for Siri, while thoughtful on some occasions, was extremely dense in recognizing that  _ yes,  _ while a building may be visible from a certain point on the street, it was  _ not  _ the entrance and they were most certainly not at their destination just because the backside of a facility was visible from the opposing side of a highway.

A different type of jitteriness buzzes inside of her as she steps out into the parking lot, realizing that in just mere moments she will be reunited with adults she still considers to be her own kids. She exhales slowly, attempting to alleviate the fluttery sensation in her chest as she slips her own hand into the spaces between Went’s fingers. She knows from texting Bev that Eddie has been moved out of the ICU and into a more residential room of sorts as there is no way he can be cleared for travel as a result of the injuries no one has been really able to explain to her. All she knows is that Eddie nearly died somehow and will have a long road of recovery ahead of him.

They take a quick peek at a hospital directory map before navigating their way to an elevator to make their way to the appropriate floor. 

“Nervous?” Went asks, his own wavering voice easily revealing his uncalm state. 

“Yes.” She says truthfully, squeezing his hand gently as the doors open and they make their way to the waiting room. Through the small rectangular window of the door she spots a flash of short red hair and her heart nearly leaps into her throat but she pushes down the fear and opens the door.

The aforementioned red hair whips around, along with a few other faces Maggie can identify to be Michael Hanlon, William Denbrough, and Benjamin Hanscom, at the sound of the door creaking open and it is clear that she and the others recognize them even in their slightly wrinklier, greyer state. “Maggie, Went.” Bev gasps, wrapping her arms (which Maggie notices have hand-shaped bruises fading upon them) around her waist in a tight hug. Despite the flash of red hair that quickly obscures her vision in the tight hug, she sees the others stand up in the corner of her eye, slowly and somewhat shyly approaching. What the fuck do they have to be shy about? They’re all  _ hers. _

“Hi, sweetie.” Maggie greets tearfully, rubbing her hand through the thick hair. Bev looks even more beautiful than she does in all the magazines she is featured in. She’s lost the softness of her cheeks that she’d still held onto in her early high school days and has sharp cheekbones that are not sprinkled with the freckles she’d had in her youth. Her eyes are still just as daring and curious as they’d been as a young girl. She clearly has not grown much since their childhood and still stands shorter than her which Maggie has to consider a score as her own son passed her up far earlier than she’d ever anticipated. 

“Hey there, Bev.” Went chimes in, pulling Bev into one of his dad hugs.

“Get your asses over here.” Maggie demands, enforcing her own motherly tone that she hopes triggers happier memories in them. With the grins that appear on the men’s faces, it’s clear there is a spark of joy there. 

“Not so big now are we, Big Bill?” Went observes teasingly as Bev steps to the side to give room for more much needed hugs. 

“Oh hush, Went.” Maggie chides, hugging him tightly and standing up to her full height to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“We all knew that was gonna be the case when I stopped growing in highschool.” Bill chuckles, wrapping arms around Maggie’s shoulders and she notices that he just barely surpasses her in height. His hair has dulled significantly from the more vibrant auburn (that was definitely more red than brown) it had been when he was younger. It has grown mousy with the amount of grey streaking his locks and he has a tired look in his eyes but she supposes that’s to be expected out of all of them after being caught up in who knows what these last few days. 

What is a surprise however, is Ben. She recognizes him despite the fact that he is no longer the chubbier boy that’d lost  _ some _ weight in high school as a result of track and field. He’s easy to pinpoint for he still has the same kind eyes and easy smile that warmed her heart all the time she managed to sneak it out of him when they were teens. He has stretched out quite a bit and stands perhaps as tall as Went—maybe taller— and has completely slimmed down and packed on a hefty amount of lean muscle. She’d seen some pictures of him online but this is still a surprise to see in person and to actually get to  _ hug  _ now.

“Still the best hugger, Benny.” She tells him. 

“Even without the extra cushion?” He chuckles, his smile crinkling the corners of his soft eyes. 

“Even without it.” She affirms as Went takes him away and gives him a pat on the back. 

“I bet you could crush melons with these things.” Went snarks, patting Ben playfully on the biceps. “Jesus.”

And of course, standing shyly behind all of them is the handsome man that brought them all here, Mike. He stands much taller than he had and without a question has a couple of inches over her own missing son. He has filled out the way Ben has with a heaping amount of muscle and she can only assume that it came with whatever work he elected to continue because she did happen to notice that Hanlon Farms was no longer listed as a business in Derry which would mean that his physique could not be the result of the intense farm labor he’d done as a kid. One of his arms is wrapped in fraying gauze from wrist to elbow indicating an injury that must have occurred during whatever hell they’d put themselves through but she decides not to comment on it as she pulls the man who had wrongly been forced to endure this town longer than anyone should have, into the tightest hug of all. 

“Oh, honey, thank you for getting all of you guys together, again.” Maggie whispers into his ear, tears swimming in her eyes. 

“Someone had to do it.” Mike answers somberly. 

“No one should have to stay here as long as you have.” She tells him, cupping his jaw with her hand. She lowers her voice, “You knew something was wrong with this town before we even moved away.”

He swallows thickly, tensing beneath her touch. “I did. Yes.” She rubs her hand soothingly over the tightened muscles and he starts to relax.

“Thank you for all you’ve done.” She chokes.

“But Richie—”

“We will find him.” She tries to sound confident but it’s weak even to her own ears.

“We will.” Went echoes, taking Mike into his own arms. His own tone is stronger than hers and somehow Maggie can only wonder how Went manages to manifest a facade of bravery in areas she rarely can. It has to be a Dad TM thing. 

Mike has a flicker of guilt across his face and Maggie assumes it’s because he’s the one who brought them here but he has no reason to blame himself for such severe matters. He was right to bring them here— she can sense that. They needed to be together for some reason and that’s what matters. 

Mike scratches the back of his head uneasily. “You guys can see Eddie, I think.” He laughs mirthlessly. “His wife is a little  _ intense  _ to say the least but I’m sure he is coherent enough to get you guys past her barricade.”

Bev nods. “Only two people can go in the room with him at a time so I can take you back there but I won’t be able to go in.” She huffs bitterly. “Plus, I think I may have overstayed my last visit with him because his wife made some harsh accusations.”

“I see.” Maggie acknowledges. 

“Lead the way, Bevs.” Went commands in a half-assed British man voice as she takes them down to the hall where Eddie is currently residing.

She approaches a door that is half open and can hear the sound of a cheesy soap opera playing on the TV. The privacy curtain is drawn but Maggie can make out the wildly out-of-style sandals upon the feet of a heavier set woman. Bev knocks against the opened door, electing to not step foot into the room and Maggie assumes she has her good reason.

“Myra?” She whispers courteously. “Eddie has some visitors,” she thinks for a moment. “Some old family of his.” She offers a smile to them.

“Eddie’s family is all dead, Beverly.” The woman, Myra hisses and Maggie has to withhold a gasp as she steps around the corner to reveal a bleach-blonde copy of Sonia Kaspbrak. She feels Went jostle next to her and knows he sees it too. Richie was not fucking kidding when he said that Myra Kaspbrak was indeed a clone of the apparently late Sonia (good fucking riddance). But alas, it would seem she has reincarnated somehow into the form of Eddie’s wife. Talk about a fucking Oedipus complex. 

“We’re family  _ friends _ .” Went adds smoothly, a soft grin quirking up the corners of his mouth. Hopefully the Tozier charm is enough for this woman as it had been on Sonia a handful of times. “We’ve known Eddie there since he was a tyke and we would love to se—”

“You’re that raunchy comedian’s parents aren’t you?” She accuses, glaring them up and down. “You’re the drunken mother that tried to spoil Eddie’s mind. Sonia told me  _ all  _ about the nasty parents Eddie had to endure before they escaped this vile place.” 

Maggie manages to keep her cool, pursing her lips and biting the inside of her cheek. “Sonia had her opinions of me but rarely were any of them backed by factual information just like most of Eddie’s illnesses in childhood weren’t either.” 

“Eddie is  _ extremely  _ delicate and you,” she points at Bev and then at them, “and your filthy son, good riddance to him,” Maggie  _ seethes  _ “and all of those trashy friends  _ did  _ this to him even though he is so very fra—”

“Eddie frail? Delicate?” Went spits out a laugh that is certainly not going to grant him any favors when dealing with this monstrous woman. “We must have the wrong room! The Eddie we always knew was a firecracker.”

“Your son nearly got him killed and you have the  _ audacity  _ to make jo—”

“Myra, please.” A weak voice sounds from behind the curtain and Maggie’s heart absolute soars. She knows that voice even in its weakened state. “I’d like to see them. Please?”

“But Eddie, you’re weak. They could be carrying germs, viruses, or who knows what!”

“Myra, statistically speaking… I don’t care right now. I’m tired and I would like to see them.”

“Why don’t we get some lunch in the cafeteria.” Bev suggests, already guiding Myra out, who begins to rant about the unsanitary conditions and the breedings grounds for bacteria that all buffet-style hospital cafeterias tend to be. 

Maggie steps in once they leave and pushes the curtain aside to reveal herself to a gray-faced man with a heavily bandaged chest and eyes heavy and beyond exhaustion. However, even in such a wan state, it is undoubtedly the grown version of one Edward Kaspbrak. The hair, while limp and somewhat oily is combed neatly and his face is nearly the same with the exception of the more mature, firmer shape of it. His brown eyes, although dull with pain medication are still the same puppydog ones that were too often filled with an instilled fear she remembers looking into when she wanted nothing more than to protect him from the horrors his sick mother often had in store for such a sweet, innocent boy. 

“Hi there, sweetie.” She greets softly, sitting close to his head.

“Hi Mrs. To— Maggie.” He catches himself with a weak laugh, wincing at the motion. 

“Got into a little bit of a mess, haven’t you Eds?” Went inquires, seating himself on the other side of him. 

“Just a flesh wound.” He attempts to joke. “It’s really good to see you both.” He says, voice strained and exhausted. 

“Gave us all a real scare.” She says, rubbing a hand across his forehead to which he completely melts into. He’s clearly not had any decent bedside manner but that’s to be expected when married to the epitome of a Freudian nightmare. 

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He apologizes unnecessarily but she doesn’t have it in her to scold him for such needless apologies. Instead she continues the relaxing motion. “Thanks for coming all this way to see me.”

“We missed you so much, Eddie.” She tells him. “You know, we never ever forgot you.”

He smiles meekly at that. “I wish I could say the same. I think I would have done a lot of things a lot differently.” There is heavy regret in his voice and she hates that he’s burdened with such feelings.

“It’s not too late to fix things, you know.” Went advises carefully. “Maybe this was meant to open your eyes and see,” He thinks carefully. “What else could be in store for you.”

Eddie considers this and asks the fated question, “Has anyone found Richie? Is he okay?”

Maggie swallows thickly at that. She’s not sure she wants to explain the situation because not even she has a full idea of what the state of her son is. She just knows he is missing without any possible way to contact him as his phone is no longer available for contact. She truly fears the worst and has managed to mask the intense feelings she’s presently plagued with for the sake of being able to witness the fact that Eddie Kaspbrak is indeed alive and not necessarily well, but  _ breathing _ . 

“We’re working on that.” Went answers for her. “Richie’s going through some stuff and we have to help him through that.”

Eddie’s shoulders drop at that. “I didn’t even know that Myra kicked him out.” His eyes are glassy with something that is not physical pain. “Bev… Bev told me she said some really bad things about him and he was just already in a rough place after he basically carried me out of…” He bites his lip, “the rubble and he wasn’t doing too hot and then before they knew it, he had just vanished.”

Maggie sighs, uncertain of what to say about that. She can’t speak on behalf of her son without betraying his trust. Nor can she even reassure anyone of his state— not even herself. 

“What was he like?” Eddie asks. “After we all left and before we all met again. I kinda get the idea he’s kinda like… his old self a bit.” He pauses, considering this. “Not completely, I suppose but he’s definitely still a jackass.” 

She and Went both snort at that. 

“He was like you.” Maggie sighs and meets his misty, brown eyes. “Sad.”

Eddie looks away, swallowing thickly. 

“You don’t smile very much, do you Eddie?” Maggie states, nodding toward the frown lines and the worry lines that settle deep into his forehead. She thinks of Richie, a comedian with too faint of laugh lines.

The two of them, whether they realize it or not, have been hopelessly unhappy since leaving each other all those years ago. She wants to say something. She knows it’s not the cure all to their present problems, no. But it may inspire something but it’s not her place nor is it the time to announce such things when Eddie is in such a state. Or maybe it’s the perfect moment to tell him but she cannot bring herself to feel regret so she swallows her courage like a small coal and indulges the fear by saying nothing. 

“I guess not.” He mumbles sadly. 

“It’ll get better. You know that.” 

Went takes hold of the hand not presently being used as a pin-cushion for his IV that is definitely pumping him with the good shit. “It will.” He agrees. 

“I hope so.” He yawns. “Richie’s a ‘uckin asshole.” He mutters, exhaustion taking hold of him. “I really hope you guys find him… I wanna see him and… stuff.”

“Stuff?” She teases in kind. 

“Mmm.” 

“He would like that. I wish he were here to help you, honey.”

“Richie needs… needs his own time ri’ ‘ow.” Eddie mumbles.. Anyone else might feel bitterness for their friend bailing after nearly dying in the middle of a disastrous reunion in their former shithole of a hometown. Eddie, however, always selfless and caring for everyone, especially her son, could sense that something more was wrong with Richie and that he would not leave for any mild reason— not even if his wife had produced a restraining order against him. Eddie, even years later, knew it would take a lot to keep Richie away from him when he was in a state like this. Maggie knew that too. She knew only the worst, most vile demons that inhabited her son’s brain could draw him away and that’s what worried her. 

She attempts to repress this acknowledgement aside, simply rubbing her hand calmly through Eddie’s neatly parted hair until he is lulled into a blissful slumber.

xXx

They end up hanging around for a while longer and Eddie continuously drifts in and out of consciousness, attempting to catch up with her and Went until Myra asks (demands) that they leave as to not disturb Eddie’s recovery “anymore than they already have.” Maggie can see the pain in Eddie’s eyes— it’s familiar. It’s the same look he had anytime he used to stand behind his mother when she insisted that he was too weak to be engaging in something all of the other kids were allowed to do. She wants to speak up, to snap at this woman he’s unfortunately betrothed himself with, to tell her that Eddie Kaspbrak is so much more than a weak, frail man that needs protecting. He is brave and strong and he always has been. She does not as she can see how peaked Eddie looks and knows that arguing is certainly not what he needs right now. 

They end up heading back to the Inn with the Losers and seat themselves on the in need-of-reupholstering furniture and make a few feeble attempts to fill each other in on their present lives. As expected, most of them are very obviously successful, even Mike who attempts to undermine the fact of his own success since he’s been working as a librarian. However, despite having such a job in times where libraries are rarely utilized with the influx of quick-access technology, he is not to be discredited for his wise decision to invest a significant amount of money in various stocks that have accumulated greatly in these last two decades. He has a rather substantial amount to his name now and plants to utilize it in order to finally escape this hellscape. 

Though the Losers (her missing son included) have all found themselves succeeding,  _ none  _ of them have really achieved genuine happiness as far as she can see. They have been hurting in some way or other and it’s weighed on their ability to truly prosper and evolve into their fullest potential. 

Bev admits she’s been in a loveless marriage (and with the marks upon her wrist that’s an understatement) and even before leaving to make her return to Fucktown, Maine, she knew it was time to part ways from him and remove him from the company because as Maggie suspected, she’s the real brains behind the entire brand. Mike, having had almost no contact with anyone since the last Loser, Eddie, moved away and even less contact after his grandfather passed in his early twenties, has been incredibly lonely in this hateful town. He dreamt of his escape but knew he had to stay and continued his own research about why Derry was so different and while it was helpful… he found himself heavy with sadness for Derry is not a place to breed any positivity. 

Ben, while thriving in his own company, has been awfully alone. He figured once he lost the weight and was able to stand looking at himself in the mirror (and god that hurts Maggie to hear), he might be able to find someone that loved him for him. And sure, he had his fair share of potential suitresses, but none of them loved him beyond his appearance and wasn’t that just absolutely ironic. None of them loved him for  _ him.  _ He had never found  _ anyone  _ to make him feel whole; but with the small dimpling in his cheek as he glances at Bev, and the reciprocated warmth as she glances up at him as he tells the Toziers about his life struggles, Maggie knows that  _ that  _ has certainly changed.

Bill is married and he’s fairly happy with his marriage. However, it’s grown rocky for he’s been stuck in a cycle with his writing and his inability to really see anything beautiful or positive in the world since he started immersing himself in his work and cannot develop anything happy in a fictional sense—and he struggles to do the same in his  _ real  _ life now and that’s been tolling on his marriage. He feels like he, and perhaps  _ all  _ the Losers have stagnated mentally and emotionally since leaving Derry. Maggie thinks he might be right. However, it is extremely vague as to  _ why  _ they’ve all experienced this and none of them seem overly keen on broadcasting this reason they all visibly know of to she or Went. She does not press the matter for it is probably a story for a different day. 

Now, with them getting a taste of who they are now (and they are still the same bunch she loved like her own), they have to address the primary reason as to why she and Went have brought themselves here: Richie is still missing. She fills them in on the fact that his manager is making attempts to track Richie down by working with the credit card company to track his card usage.

“Did he tell any of you guys he was leaving?” Maggie starts.

They all shake their heads. “No.” Ben says sadly. “He  _ almost  _ left after getting his,” He hesitates. “I don’t know… but he must have remembered something or other and he wanted to leave and he and I talked about some stuff and I  _ thought  _ he was good to go but he did end up jumping out the window or something and was gonna leave again but ended up at the library with Mike.”

Bev snorts a little at that in spite of the situation. “Yeah that’s where he axe-murdered Bowers.” 

Oh yeah.  _ That  _ was also a problem that needed addressing because if Richie—no,  _ when  _ Richie turned up (Maggie could not maintain this front of composure long if she thought of Richie in terms of ‘ifs’ right now) it was quite likely he would face the consequences of killing his middle school bully.

“Yeah, uh, how do we address that.” Maggie wonders aloud. “He did actually confess to it over the phone to me so that could be a problem for him too once we find him.”

“It sounds like it could be self defense. It  _ had _ to be self defense.” Went interjects.

“We actually already took care of that.” Mike reassures. “After Richie left and before we were able to get a hold of you guys, we had to get someone to… remove Bowers’s body form the library and we explained what happened to the police.”

“They completely dismissed it as it was self defense and I guess no one really gave a shit about Bowers being killed because apparently before escaping the mental institution he was in, he killed a bunch of other patients and orderlies.” Ben continues. 

“So, essentially, good riddance.” Went surmises and Maggee elbows him even if she does agree deep down. She has to at least  _ pretend  _ to have some compassion even if it is for someone as vile as Henry Bowers.

“That’s how they saw it, yeah.” Mike agrees. 

“Well that’s good, then.” Maggie states. “One less problem for all of us to deal with.”

“Steve texted me.” Went announces. “He has been tracking Richie’s credit cards and he used an ATM to completely drain his savings in northern Pennsylvania.”

“But, he cancelled the card right after..” Went finishes with a defeated look drawn upon his features.

“So, there’s no way to track him now.” Maggie slumps forward, a lump forming on her throat and heart beginning to take on a panicked rhythm. Ben scoots forward, rubbing a hand over her shoulder. 

“Richie is famous, he can’t be that hard to find.” Bev states. “Someone will see him somewhere and post  _ all  _ about it.”

“I think we need to declare him as a missing person.” Mike says slowly. 

Bill goes stark white at that, whipping his head toward Mike. “H-he would hate that.” There is a terror in his voice that Maggie is rather surprised to hear. She knows there has to be a reason behind that reaction but she’s not in the state to comment. 

“It’s our only option, Bill.” Mike argues. “He’s famous, yeah. But if people know his family can’t find him they might actually  _ look  _ for him and we can get a better lead on that then just some shitty picture of him leaving a fucking 7-11 or whatever.” 

Maggie’s jaw unwilling quivers as her own fears from the summer of ‘89 are truly coming to life. Her adult son is missing and there’s absolutely no way to trace him. “We have to.”

“I know, I’m s-sorry.” Bill sighs. “It’s just something from a while ago. It’s nothing.”

She knows that’s a lie.

Went exhales slowly and in a shaky voice he says, “I’ll make the call.” He picks up the phone, dials on the touchpad, and waits before managing to choke out, “Hi. My name is Wentworth Tozier and I need to declare a Missing Persons Report for my son.” He continues providing details and explaining the situation to the operator on the opposing end but Maggie tunes it out as she focuses on her own breathing.

She’s scared. She’s more scared than she has been for quite some time. But Maggie also feels somewhat confident that this could receive enough traction in the news with Richie’s star-like status and of course having his tour, so people, especially his fans, will  _ want  _ to find him. Perhaps finding Richie may be somewhat of a breeze and maybe she really has nothing to worry about. 

Deep down, she knows that that is absolute bullshit.

xXx

**September 2016**

Her son has been missing for a month now and each minute that passes without word from him is more excruciating than the previous. The public had of course been in somewhat of a state of shock about the fact that one of Hollywood’s most beloved comedians and actors had seemingly vanished after running out in the middle of a show and of course the story had been warped and many were reporting that he was on some drug bender and he was completely at fault here—she elected to ignore those articles because it was quite likely that her dream was slowly manifesting into reality and he was indeed falling back into such dreadful habits. 

Only one indication that he was still alive had presented itself in the form of what was clearly more than half of his savings stuffed into a box within a box (for obvious security purposes) that he’d mailed from Pennsylvania—most likely having done so after using the ATM to drain his savings before taking himself entirely off the grid. He wasn’t going to disappear without ensuring that his parents were more than financially afloat but Maggie would rather be cramped in a soggy box on the side of a highway with absolutely no money to her name than to live in her son’s grand home, without knowing where he was. She would give every cent to just see him again, to hold him, and to tell him everything was okay once more.

It was becoming quite obvious that Richie had no intention of resurfacing again but she was not willing to admit that beyond her own internal stream of thought. She would continue to hold onto the hope she still managed to conjure up. Maybe he would reactivate all his socials again and see that Eddie and Stan were both alive and were too partaking in the effort to find him—although Eddie could not do much for he was back in New York (where he’d lived the entire time Richie had been there and she only wishes they could have found each other in that time as things could have been vastly different for them) and was under the same roof as his authoritarian wife and attempting to power through intense physical therapy sessions. She’d managed to talk to him a few times when he snuck into his downstairs bathroom—something he should  _ not  _ have to do while living with someone who was supposed to love and trust him.

In the midst of their conversations which typically pertained to his painstaking recovery and the absence of her son, she had made this point to him several times and hinted that he could do better and there was a world outside of this abuse—and that was the only word for that was happening to him. He acknowledged this but was presently not making any indication that he would be removing himself from this toxicity anytime soon. However, she could not pressure him too much as he was still in a great deal of pain from the extensive injuries he’d suffered from that no one really cared to explain to her or Went in full detail. Yet another thing that was a story for a different day she supposes. 

Even though most of the conversations she had with Eddie were carried out in hushed, fearful tones (on his end), she was incredibly thankful to hear his voice. The other Losers had taken it upon themselves to stay in touch with her on a near-daily basis since they flew back home without Richie. They always attempted to reassure her that Richie would turn up again and maybe they did think otherwise but they never displayed any signs of thinking anything that wasn’t remotely hopeful.

However, some of their discussions did not revolve around the absence of her son, and were more mundane in nature. Bev had called once to tell her that after filing for an official divorce, she’d moved in with Ben and they’d adopted a rather adorable mutt from the pound. This call was soon followed by several pictures of the handsome dog. Mike had called once to tell her about a rather interesting encounter he’d had with a Starbucks barista involving a lizard and his doubleshot. Regardless of the nature of the conversations she got to have with them, they meant a lot to her and Went and made them feel less empty inside for it was like having all her children again even if her actual baby was nowhere to be found.

The house was oppressively empty but luckily, they were due for some company in the form of the most beloved Stanley Uris for the next two days. His wife was going to be out on business for the weekend and was not exactly comfortable with Stan being alone after what had happened back in August (and Maggie could understand and she knew Stan could too) so he elected to reach out to the Toziers and ask if he could stay with them while she was out of town. Neither of them hesitated to welcome Stan into their (son’s) empty home. 

It would not fill the void that had grown with each day not knowing where their son was. Never in her life did she think she would be able to empathize so deeply to Marlin from  _ Finding Nemo.  _ All she needed now was a memory-deficient sidekick to help her along the way. Went could quite possibly fulfill that role even if it was also his son that was presently missing and he really wasn’t just a ditzy friend just along for the emotional journey through the south Pacific. Aggressively relating to distressed animated fish parents aside, Maggie was absolutely thrilled to finally see Stan The Man after all these years and was simply grateful that she would have the ability to after things could have gone much worse for him.

It’s odd and painful in a way that it is when someone dies (but Richie is not gone, she has to remind herself of that daily) to live in a house when someone else, the owner to be specific, is supposed to be there but is not. But they have to try to keep living it and take over the basic homeowner duties of cleaning up as much as she’s willing for company. There is no need for it to look like  _ Disney on Ice  _ or like a snapshot out of some HGTV model home. She likes her homes to look lived in, even for company, but she knows how Stan’s OCD had been in childhood so she elects to take some precautionary measures and think a little more intensively even though Richie  _ does  _ have a very kind cleaning lady who does a fine job on her own, but Maggie elects to pick at the more minute details that are not in her job description. 

It doesn’t require too much effort on her end, for cleaning is vaguely therapeutic to her and deciding to clean a few hours before Stan’s flight is scheduled to land in LAX is certainly a good way to work out the physical anxiety that has build up in her fingertips that yearn to crack her knuckles repeatedly or rake through her hair as if attempting to tear through her scalp, toward her brain to cease the more macabre thoughts of her son’s present state. Luckily, she doesn’t have to make the excruciating “should-be thirty minute drive but turns into two hours because of fucking LA traffic” drive to pick up Stan as he has already elected to take a very expensive Uber to their place. They did, out of courtesy offer to come and get him (hoping he would say no) and he had denied such offerings. 

Once the house fits a standard she believes would have been appealing to the younger Stan that she remembers (and perhaps above those standards), she elects to cuddle herself up to her husband upon the couch. She glances at the loveseat, longing to see her son curled up in a small ball that no man his size has any right snuggling themself into. She wishes to hear his snide commentary as they watch some bullshit reality show or his more profound insights when they find themselves engaged in a film of genuine artistry. She misses him.She exhales sadly, nuzzling her head into Went’s chest, willing her physical exertion to pull her down into a much-needed rest to avoid her own tortured thoughts before Stan’s impending arrival.

xXx

She awakens just on time as she’s able to get out some drinks for Stan and to make herself look slightly less like she just napped on the couch for two hours for once those tasks are addressed, she hears a knock (four raps, always had been four) is heard from the front door. Went exits the kitchen, having just finished a lasagna he’d been working over during her nap, a slight pep in his step she’s not seen for a while at the prospect of seeing one of their many surrogate children.

She steps to the door and opens it to see Stanley Uris. His locks, still spiraled with kinky curls and neatly parted over his forehead, a smile soft and easy upon his face, and of course he is clad in an outfit that looks like it belongs on a man older than she or Went. He really looks exactly the same. 

“Oh come here!” She greets as jovially as she can presently manage, pulling him into a hug.

“Hi Mrs. To—”

“You’re forty, Stanley. It’s Maggie.” She berates him playfully, standing on her toes to give him a soft kiss to his cheek.

He snorts at that. “It’s really good to see you both.”

“Stan the Man!” Went cheers, pulling him into a fatherly hug, patting his back as opposed to mussing his hair as he would with any of the other Losers. Went remembers the boundaries Stan used to have. 

“It’s good to see you guys.” Stan says genuinely. 

“Oh come in,” she ushers him in. “Make yourself at home.”

“Wow Ri—” He looks uncertain, biting his lower lip. Maggie offers a nod to show that it is okay to speak of him. He’s still alive. He is. She knows this. “Richie really picked a good place. I expected him to live in a frat house or something.”

“We were surprised too.” Went confesses.

Stan gets himself settled in a guest room and they settle themselves for the lovely dinner Went had prepared. They fall into an easy conversion. They catch up on the times, and she learns all about his Patty Blum. She sees a twinkle in his eye and it is quite obvious that Stan is positively beguiled by his wife for he cannot contain the smile that lights up his entire face when he discusses how they met in college and what life has been like with her. They’re planning on spending their Christmas in Buenos Aires since they never got to take the summer trip there that she had initially booked. This topic, as it was inevitable to be brought up, triggers the topic of Derry and what Stan did as opposed to going to Derry to fulfill some mysterious promise. 

“We obviously couldn’t go because after Mike called I—” He swallows uneasily, rubbing awkwardly at his wrists. She finally notices that he’s wearing a light weight jacket despite the fact that SoCal has most definitely not cooled down even though fall has officially begun. He’s covering his wrists. “Yeah.” He finishes, shame obvious in his expression.

“You, never do something like that again. Okay?” She says shakily. “You are so loved by not only Patty but all of us and if you ever feel like that again, you call.”

“That’s the thing,” Stan sighs. “I never felt like that. I mean,” He rolls his shoulders uncomfortably.

“You don’t have to say anything you’re not comfortable with, son.” Went soothes him.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m fine.” Stan reassures. “I really am. I mean I probably felt like  _ that  _ in middle and high school but not once I got out of there—Derry, I mean. I was  _ really  _ happy and I’ve had a great life so far and I was in the  _ best  _ place with my job, with Patty, with everything.” A weak laugh escapes him. “But then after that phone call, it was like a wash of fear overtook me and I couldn’t face that and I just had to… I had to end it.” 

He breathes deeply, wiping at his eyes from under his glasses. Maggie hands him a tissue and he accepts it. 

“I know I didn’t have to. I know that now.”

“Why were you so scared?” She questions.

“I think I’m just scared of fear.” Stan admits. 

“Very  _ Prisoner of Azkaban. _ ” Went notes and Maggie elbows him at that.

“ _ Went! _ ” She hisses.

Stan snickers at that. “It’s fine. I guess it kinda is like that.” He sighs. “There is a bit more to it and I think… I think this might explain it, if you’ll excuse me.” 

“Of course.” Maggie waves him off.

He returns moments later, an envelope in hand. “This is for Richie and uh,” He seats himself back at the table, sliding the envelope to the two of them. “It was supposed to be mailed to the Losers when I was supposed to die. But, since I didn’t, Patty never had a reason to send them out and since everything did work out even though I wasn’t there, I didn’t think I needed to send them.”

She is slightly horrified by what lays in front of her and she must not have hid that well because Stan quickly says. “It’s not a suicide note. I promise. It just kinda gave some reason as to why I did what I did and it has some other stuff in there too—for Richie, I mean.” He sighs. “I think Richie needs to read it once he’s back. I think a lot of what I said in it was indirectly toward him more than the others.” 

“Thank you Stan.” Went whispers, knowing if he talks louder his voice will crack and betray his collected appearance. “We will give it to him when he’s home.”

“You guys can read it too if you want. It might help.”

“Thank you, Stan. Really.” Maggie gets up and walks over to hug him.

She decides the letter is for Richie, so they both agree to not read it even when they do find him. 

xXx

**December 2016**

No one seems that interested in looking for him anymore because Richie who used to always make himself the center of attention, always heard before seen even from all the way across the room in the largest of venues, has successfully made himself undetectable and invisible to the rest of the world. He does not want to be found. That much is clear. Maybe he  _ can’t _ be found as some speculate. Richie’s been written off as dead by most of the media. Perhaps he’s already gone from the world; having taken his last breath in these last few months and no one even can even be certain of this. Maybe they will never see him again or get any closure.

Maggie has had to accept this as a potential reality recently and it’s truly eviscerated her. She finds herself on many days, dragging her body into his bedroom, the scent of cheap Target brand cologne (as Richie never did develop more luxurious tastes) and an aftershave that irritated his sensitive skin still ingrained into the fibers of a well-loved sweatshirt that she holds close to her face, wishing somehow that in the blink of an eye she would not be pathetically clutching a piece of dirty fabric but instead her lost son. She fingers through notebooks he had filled with doodles and hilarious jokes he never presented to his writing team as his own insecurities and fears had prevented him from ever doing so. 

One day, she finds an entry several pages after a rather hilarious anecdote about his perception of the film,  _ Back to the Future  _ and it nearly crushes her when she sees what he had written:

**I am**

**I am**

**I am**

**I AM**

~~**I AM** **GAY** ~~

The rest of the page is entirely scribbled out ferociously, the pressure on the pen quite obvious in the opacity of the ink and the wrinkling of the page. He had been trying to tell himself it seems; perhaps for a sense of validation for his own sake. He could not even bring himself to do that on a piece of paper that was meant to be unseen by anyone but himself. Of course he removed himself from the world (or so it seemed) after encountering the one person he had loved so unconditionally and fiercely and was too scared to love anymore for all the confidence his younger self had possessed when looking them in the eyes, a glimmer of courage behind his coke bottle lenses, was gone. 

Something had taken that away from him and in turn, it had taken a son away from two parents who could not completely process the most likely scenarios their son had to be in after being missing for so long. Bill had suggested she talk to his mother for she was still alive (his father had passed about three years ago) but Maggie didn’t want to. She did not want to think she could possibly relate to Sharon Denbrough. She had ignored Bill’s calls for a week after that.

The detectives that had taken charge of the case had essentially told them they really could not search anymore and that they could only wait for someone to report having seen him (and people had made such reports as a sick fucking joke of course) or until… until a body turned up. Maggie recalls hearing such statements but her reaction had been a blur. She just remembers the edges of her vision going dark and the sound of someone screaming animalistically in the background. Now that it’s been a few weeks since that was decided, she is fairly certain it was her that had been screaming. 

Things were rough and that did not even begin to express the gut wrenching feelings that Maggie and Went had been experiencing. It felt worse now with Christmas just two weeks away. Families were a staple this time of year and every Hallmark movie and TV commercial ensured that this was made quite obvious. They were still a family of sorts, she and Went. However, with the obvious missing person, it felt like a giant hole had been torn in their unit. It felt so wrong to even consider partaking in this family holiday for their family felt broken; incomplete. 

Maggie had lost family before. Her mother died not long after Christmas. She had cut her sister out. Her father was never really in the picture. But she still felt a sense of completion in the last forty years with just her, Went, and Richie—and sometimes, when Richie lived in New York, Richie only existed on holidays in the form of a phone call but that was enough for her. They were united in some way and she felt like all their pieces were together in some way. But now, with Richie nowhere to be found, the void was so excruciatingly there and it was so miserably hollow. Everything felt so dark right now. She felt trapped. The darkness that had been left when her son’s light had been extinguished from her life was isolating and it physically hurt in a way she could not quite wrap her head around. 

She felt like she was in a tunnel of darkness with no way out. She was blindly stumbling through, eyes open against the black with only cheap flashlights that flickered with the subtlest movement or damp matches that barely held a flame to light her way. Eventually, those lights expired and she was once again consumed in the dark and the more she travelled along, the more she just didn’t wanna try to find an exit because it felt pointless. She could not escape the wicked oblivion that had overtaken her mind and maybe that was just how it had to be now.

The Losers had made attempts to alleviate the pain she and Went were going through but they too were in their own states of distress with the fact that one of their best friends whom they had literally just gotten back in their little group had completely vanished. However, their hurt was obviously different than what his parents were going through. 

Some of the Losers had offered to come see them over Christmas just to create some semblance of joy for them and initially Maggie considered this as it would be nice to see all of them and it might be healthy to engage in some of the festivities. They had mustered up some energy to put up their tree in order to try and get into the spirit but the entire process was infringed upon with one or them breaking down every single time they stumbled upon one of the handmade ornaments Richie had made in primary school. The lights were up and aglow but they had no desire to celebrate anything—they were mourning. They were not in a state to handle seeing all of Richie’s friends at once when he had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. 

The Losers were understanding and offered their condolences and promised to continue looking out for Richie but even Maggie and Went were starting to lose hope on the matter. She wanted nothing more than to spend the holiday not even acknowledging the fact that there was a holiday and staring mindlessly at the wall in front of her until the countdown to Christmas was finally over and she would no longer have to keep the TV off to prevent herself from being exposed to the happy fictional families that didn’t have a missing son.

However today her desire to mope (and she had every right to mope) was thwarted by her cell phone buzzing as Eddie Kaspbrak’s name lit up the screen. She pinches her brows together. Normally he calls later than this but she doesn’t mind hearing from him she supposes so she elects to answer.

“Hello?” She croaks, wincing at the hoarseness in her voice. She had been sobbing into her husband’s arms earlier that day. He was currently at the store to get some food for they had inadvertently let themselves go and were not keeping up with the grocery shopping and basic self care as needed and it showed in the hollows of their cheeks and the dead look that haunted their eyes these last few months.

“Ifiledfordivorce.” He spits without hesitation and she cannot understand a single word.

“What was that, Eddie?”

“I filed for divorce.” A sporadic laugh. “I’m divorcing Myra.”

A shoddy flashlight in her tunnel of depression; a light. “Really? That’s great, Eddie.” She says sincerely. 

“I knew I had to do it. You were right about everything with her and since coming back from Derry, I realized how unhappy I’ve been since I was with her.”

“I am so happy that you’re doing this Eddie.” She praises. “You deserve so much better and I am so glad you are getting out of it.”

He continues, “I’ve been researching for a good divorce attorney for a while and she pitched a fit when I told her so I know she’s gonna make this hard as hell on me but I...I knew I could do it.” He swallows thickly. “Richie made me realize I could.”

_ Ah, there it is  _ she thinks as tears prick the surface of her eyes.

“He told me I was brave and I think I believe him now.”

“You’ve always been brave, Eddie.”

“I wish that he knew he was brave too.” Eddie murmurs.

“I do too, honey. I really do.” She whimpers. “He cared—cares about you so much.”

“I keep thinking I see him sometimes.” Eddie confesses. “I know  _ I’m  _ not because no one is like Richie and I would know it was him if I saw him.” 

“I understand.” She wipes at her eyes. 

“I just wanted to tell you first.” Eddie swallows thickly. 

“Thank you, Eddie.” 

“I know you and Went wanna be alone this holiday and I don’t blame you but um…” His voice wavers slightly. “Could I come see you guys for New Years?”

“We would love that, but aren’t you still recovering, honey.” She knows  _ they’re _ still recovering and the idea of seeing them, especially after four months without any sign from her son poses as a huge trigger. 

“Yeah, but physical therapy has been going really well actually. I stopped letting Myra go to my appointments so now I’m actually making progress and I’ve upgraded to a cane! I’ve come to understand I’m supposed to feel  _ some _ discomfort while doing it but she was under some impression that I was not supposed to feel anything while doing it and would yell at all my doctors for ‘pushing me too hard.’” He exhales to himself. “I think she wanted me to stay weak.”

“She did.” Maggie agrees and it’s so painful to see that Eddie had stumbled back into this cycle of manipulative abuse and spent too many years stuck in it, with obviously no one else in his corner for him. She doesn’t know what possesses her to say this for she already denied the Losers’ initial offer but she knows Eddie does not deserve to spend another Christmas near that vile woman so maybe she can make some sort of exception to her previous declarations of not being able to have company during this time. “Would you like to spend Christmas here?”

“Wait, what?” Eddie sounds surprised. All the Losers knew she and Went wanted to be left alone this holiday as they were in an understandable amount of horrendous pain right now. However, right now, Maggie knew Eddie was suffering by being with an abusive spouse and while they were in their own sorrow, she did not want to prolong Eddie’s own anguish. Richie wouldn’t want him to either. “You guys don’t have to do that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that anyway. That was rude of me with everything going on.”

“No. I mean it, Eddie.” Maggie interjects. “I would really like to see you.”

“Okay.” He says slowly. “You don’t have t—”

“It would mean a lot to see you, Eds.” 

“I have physical therapy the 23rd, but I could cancel if you’d want me to come earli—”

“No, no. That’s okay. Gives us a bit of time to prepare for you.” She reassures. “Don’t you dare do anything to compromise your recovery. Alright?”

“Of course.” He snorts. “Thank you again and I’ll talk to you soon… and I’ll  _ see  _ you soon.”

“Of course, honey. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

He meant as much to her as her own son did. Always had, even when her own son, for the life of him, could not remember him (although Maggie is certain he subconsciously did), Maggie has never stopped caring for or loving Eddie Kaspbrak like he was her own.

xXx

Maggie and Went have made some effort to make their house a little more festive than just a lone tree for Eddie’s visit in two days. They’ve busted out more decorations, lights, and even spent an afternoon baking together. It did feel wrong to execute such activities with the continued absence of their son still blatantly obvious and just as harrowing. 

The light that had flickered at the prospect of seeing Eddie and granting him a holiday away from his wife and with a glimmer of joy they could hopefully provide—that light burned bright and ignited a sense of optimism and solace in Maggie and Went that they had not felt for a while. They both knew it was temporary but they wanted to take advantage of it. 

However, Maggie was certain this was about to end when she assumed the worst as she and Went were icing some Christmas cutout cookies in the kitchen of the main house. While Went added some milk to the sugary mix that was starting to get a little too hard for him to adequately decorate their stars and stockings with, her phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number. This had happened quite often since reporting her son as a Missing Person and was usually just a check-in to report that nothing, as per usual, had changed. 

“Hello, this is Margaret Tozier speaking.” She greets, expecting to hear an operator say that it’s officially been over four months and again, there has been no sign of her son.

“Hello Ms. Tozier, you are the mother of Richard Tozier, correct? You reported him as missing in August?” A woman’s voice asks and Maggie’s shoulders slump.  _ This  _ is not usually how these calls go. Went notices the change in her expression, a worried line creasing his forehead.

“Yeah.” She swallows thickly.

“I’m calling from the Cleveland Clinic Emergency Department in Cleveland, Ohio.” The woman says and Maggie feels like someone has poured ice into her veins. They’re about to tell her that her son is dead. He was found in Cleveland and now he’s dead. No news felt awful but maybe no news really is good news because at least then she didn’t have to accept the fact that her son might be dead. 

“Y-yes?” Maggie sits down at the kitchen table, anticipating the worst.

“We have your son here. He attempted suicide but he’s okay, now.”

Her nightmares flash across her mind. She’d known it was going to happen but she never warned him or told anyone except Went. This was her fault but it was  _ wrong.  _ They said he  _ attempted  _ suicide. Stan had  _ attempted  _ suicide. Stan was alive. Richie was alive. They said he was  _ okay _ . Okay wasn’t used as a term for the dead. Okay was typically reserved for the living. Richie was alive and he had been found. 

The circumstances were not ideal. She knew she would not be given a healthy, unmarred son. He was suffering, obviously. But he was found and that is what mattered most to her as it was all her brain was capable of processing. 

“Oh my God.” Maggie gasps out.

“No one has reported having found him yet to any detectives or any other officers.” The woman continues. “We wanted to make sure you knew he was okay before any other decisions about his status were made.” Makes sense. A medical professional reporting Richie as found after a suicide attempt would most definitely be a major HIPPA violation.

“T-thank you.” She chokes. She looks at Went. “Richie is alive.”

“Oh m-my God.” Went stammers out, dropping his face into his hands, shoulders starting to shake. 

“What’s going on with him now?” She inquires. 

“He is going to be kept for observation and he said he wants to go home as soon as possible but it is in his best interest to not travel alone right now. He can but it’s my recommendation that someone be with him given everything that has happened. We weren’t sure if any family or friends lived close enough to retrieve him and bring hi—”

“I’ll fly in tonight. Please… please just keep him there and let him know I’m coming.” 

“Of course, Mrs. Tozier. We will be sure to keep him comfortable and to maintain his privacy.”

“Thank you so much.”

She hangs up and immediately begins booking herself the next flight to Cleveland. “Oh my God, Went.” She whimpers. “H-he tried to kill himself and I  _ knew _ he was going to. I knew and I never tried to stop it.”

“You didn’t think you could, Mags.” Went tries, pulling her close without disrupting her ability to purchase a last-minute ticket. 

“I s-should have tried.”

“If you did, maybe it would be different.”

“No shit, Went.” She cries out.

“No, I mean if you  _ had  _ told him or tried to fix it, maybe we wouldn’t have our son.” He sighs. “Maybe it would have been like your dream and he actually succeeded.”

“I should have done something.” She argues. “I just need to see him.”

“Maggie, you going to him is enough.” He sighs. “I wish we could change all of this too but we can’t right now we just need to be thankful that we still have the chance to be with him again.” He wipes at his face, tears of relief in spite of what their son had tired to do, spilling from his ducts.

“Eddie is supposed to come in two days.” She remembers.

“I-I’ll stay here and I’ll fill Eddie in on everything and we’ll go from there depending on how Richie feels about all of this.”

“Okay.” She nods, wiping at her eyes. “I’m taking this.” She tells him, showing him the screen of her phone.

“Well, you might wanna book it, babe.” He snorts meekly. “But please let me talk to him when you see him. Okay?”

She nods and she hugs her husband close. Their son is alive. That’s all that matters.

xXx

The flight into Cleveland Hopkins International had been nerve wracking as the turbulence was rather intense as a result of the lake effect snow that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. However, the anxiety she felt while landing is nothing compared to what she feels now standing outside of the door of Richie’s private room clutching the discharge papers they’d given her. 

His doctor had explained everything that they were doing for him and how he was found (he’d overflown the tub and had caused water damage in the motel room beneath his to which security had to respond to and inevitably found him), given her his note (which she could not bring herself to read), and the drugs (he’d relapsed into using again) that they’d found in his system. Richie had already expressed compliance in the idea of getting into a new drug rehabilitation program once he returned to California, but right now the focus was ensuring that he did not run off again or attempt to hurt himself anymore.

She had not seen her son since August. She had not heard his voice (aside from the recordings she would cry to at night) in months—not even a whisper. She had no way of knowing he was alive and had to endure that dreadful thinking for months. She had tried to convince everyone he was alive but the likelihood of that has been ridiculously slim and she had been starting to believe that she was indeed in denial. But now she knew he was alive and currently, he was right behind the doors before her, waiting to see his mother. She wonders if he’s as scared as she is as she opens the door and sees him for the first time. 

He looks up at her when the door opens, mouth open but no words come out.

He looks uncannily like what she’d witnessed in the dream. All of his extra cushion he’d built up on his long limbs and his abdomen, completely gone. He’s nearly emaciated—perhaps not quite as bad as he’d been in his twenties but definitely below what is a healthy weight. Hair limp and greasy, in desperate need of a trim. Eyes bloodshot and red rimmed behind glasses that are cracked across the lens; tear tracks obvious on his hollowed cheeks. She can see soft looking bandages on both arms, wrapped from wrist to elbow indicating what he had tried to do.

He should look awful to her but seeing him alive and breathing after months of not knowing his whereabouts makes him seem as beautiful as he did the day he was placed in her arms for the very first time.

“Oh Richie.” She whimpers out, taking two long strides over before enveloping his skinny body in her arms. 

“Hi mom.” He rasps. 

She chokes out a sob, and holds his sallow face in her trembling hands, his unshaven cheeks cutting against her hands. She needs to feel him. She needs to know he’s really there. He flinches slightly at the touch but begins to soften into it. “Thank you for being alive.” She manages to get out.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes, blue eyes sad. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m just so happy you’re here.” She moves a curl from his forehead. 

“I...I wanna go home,” He looks into her eyes. “with you.”

“We will.” She nods. “First thing tomorrow.” 

“Can we get out of here.” He worries at his chapped lip that bleeds under the friction of his teeth. “I don’t wanna be in here anymore.”

“Yeah. I have your discharge papers. They wanna look you over once more and make sure… everything is out of your system and then we can go.”

“I’m so sorry, mom.”

xXx

They end up staying in a Hilton not too far away from the Cleveland Clinic. Maggie figures that with Richie having immersed himself in a rather dumpy motel whilst suffering from whatever horrific thoughts his own mental demons had imposed upon him, he is more than deserving of a little luxury and a bed that would help ease the obvious stiffness in his weakened body. 

“Paparazzi is gonna love this.” Richie huffs, just finishing up a rather long phone call with his father (and an emotional one at that if the fresh glisten of tear tracks upon his cheeks is any indication) as he sits down on the bed closest to the window which unnerves her slightly. An escape route to run away or to try ending himself again. She does not know but it rouses a feeling of intense fear in her.

But the fear is diminished as a flare of anger rises in her gut at his comment. “ _ That’s  _ what you’re worried about? Unbelievable.” 

“No.” He mumbles. “Not really.” He shrugs. 

She sighs and walks over to her carry-on bag, rummaging through it until she finds an unmarked envelope. “Stan wanted you to have this.” He looks up at her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “He’s alive. Did you know that?” 

He shakes his head, head bowing down. “No.” He picks at the corner of the envelope, not moving to tear it open. 

“He thinks you need to read this.” She informs him. “Eddie is alive too.”

Richie whips back up at that. “He  _ is? _ ”She nods. “Ho-how is he?”

“He’s recovering—slowly but surely.” She smiles a bit. “He’s leaving his wife.”

“Wow.” He blinks at that, a brief glimmer of something bright flickering across his face before insecurity visibly washes over him and he slumps down almost immediately. 

“He’s supposed to be visiting us for Christmas but if you’re not comfortable with that we can tell him.” 

Richie’s shoulders rise up to his ears. “I don’t want him to see me… like  _ this _ .” 

She will have to work that out and it does hurt but Richie’s wishes are of utmost importance to her right now. 

“You should have just stayed Richie.” She says, her voice cracking. “None of this had to happen.”

He shakes his head. “I-I didn’t leave because I thought he was going to die. I had to leave because… of so many other things.”

“God, Richie,” She shakes her head. “You have no idea how awful these past few months have been. I thought you were dead.” She cries out, dropping her head into her hands. She feels his (now insignificant) weight next to her as he’s moved to sit by her, wrapping his noodly arms around her. He rests his head into her shoulder and she can feel it growing wet.

“I’m so sorry mom.” He whimpers.

She looks at him, he lifts his head from her shoulder. She sees her son. The one that looked at her with dusky blue eyes in a hospital room, immediately capturing her heart. The one that cried after burning his hand after impatiently reaching for a cookie. The one that stuffed cinnamon candies up his nose. The one that was so stupidly loyal to his friends. The one that loved so fiercely in a town ridiculed him for it until he finally was forced to leave. The one that battled addiction and won at one point his life. The one that had accomplished so much and never failed to make her laugh. The one she was so proud of and that she loved unconditionally and had always tried to ensure he knew just how loved he was but still was hurting more than she could have ever imagined possible. What went wrong? What did  _ she  _ do or fail to do?

“Can I ask  _ why,  _ why did you run off? What made you do that?” She starts and cannot stop, “Why did you cut me off? What did  _ I  _ do? Did I not make you feel like you weren’t enough? Did I make you feel like you didn’t have a life not worth living? Did I not love you enough because Richie… I love you so so much and I am so sorry if that wasn’t clear because Richie, I love you more than life.”

He immediately shakes his head, shoulders trembling. “No. It’s nothing  _ you  _ did.” He stands up, raking trembling hands through his hair. He winces as the motion pulls at the stitches in his arms. He starts pacing, hands trembling at his side, and before she can utter a word, he punches his hand into the wall near his bed, not leaving a mark for he is far too weak and all it does is further irritate his self-inflicted injury. 

A torturous scream suddenly tears from his throat, ricocheting off the walls so loud that they’re sure to receive a noise complaint from the front desk. She doesn’t care. He slumps down against the wall and she darts to him where he tries to push her away as ugly sobs rack his entire body. 

“It ruined everything for me.” He screams into his knees where he’s managed to stuff his face.

“What? What did, Richie?”

“ _ It. _ ” He screeches and then it all comes out. He tells her everything.

He tells her about a shape-shifting fucking alien clown named Pennywise that lived in Derry’s sewer systems and was the reason all the kids in 1989 disappeared and had been inhabiting that town for centuries before, always feeding off kids and thriving upon the hateful nature ingrained in that shithole place. He tells her about Georgie and how Bill made them look for him at the Barrens and then forced them into Neibolt. He tells her about the missing poster and finding himself in a coffin. He tells her about fighting with Bill after Eddie was nearly killed and getting punched in the face.

He tells her about Connor Bowers and how Henry and his gang chased him out of there after calling him the ugliest of names. He tells her how Paul Bunyan came to life and chased him around the park because It knew his secret. He tells her about Beverly getting taken by the clown in her own bathroom and all of the Losers going to rescue her. He tells her about Stan getting his face nearly gnawed off because they weren’t paying attention and the clown, taking the form of a scary “flute lady” had gotten a hold of him. He tells her how Stan cried and how he felt like the worst friend ever. He tells her about the floating bodies in the cistern. He tells her that Bev was floating because of the Deadlights and that Ben kissed her in order to save her.

He tells her how Bill had to shoot Pennywise taking the form of his little brother in the face. He tells her how he whacked the clown with a baseball bat. He tells her how they attacked the bastard together as a group and It crawled back into Its cave for another slumber. He tells her how Bev saw all of them in the Deadlights as adults. He tells her they all sliced their hands open, swearing to come back if It ever came back. He tells her he had taken his dad’s pocket knife and carved his and Eddie Kaspbrak’s initials into the Kissing Bridge as a way to prove he was brave before he came home that day and came out to them for the first time. 

He tells her about loving Eddie Kaspbrak and finally dating him for the first time. He tells her how complete he felt then and how it was so euphoric until someone made him feel terrified of that. He tells her how he genuinely did forget everything. He tells her how he thinks Derry and all the memories were there but he knows It was preventing him from making sense of it. He tells her how hurt it felt to not understand all these feelings of seemingly unnecessary fear that simmered inside of him and to handle it he turned to drugs and alcohol to numb this incessant horror that plagued him. He tells her about Jason and how he loved him so much until Jason got tired of hiding his feelings and understandably left him.

He tells her of the nightmares he had of a clown’s face. He tells her how the drug use got worse and how he was sleeping with just about anyone with a pulse just to  _ feel  _ something. He tells her how the day he overdosed he remembers seeing a red balloon in his room and then nothing until he woke up in the hospital. He tells her about how he really thought he was better and could do something with his life but no matter what he was always hurting and yearning for someone to love him. He tells her about Steve and how he thought that was it but he was always too scared to admit how much he loved him.

He tells her about how he never felt like he was making the right career moves and how it just felt better to do whatever anyone else wanted him to do even if it meant always playing the goof up friend in a movie or making a sexist joke. He tells her how he was too scared to be himself because it felt dirty and wrong.

He tells her about Mike calling and how he threw up immediately for the fear that hit him was so excruciating and mortifying that he felt like he was going to die on the spot. He tells her that he considered just overdosing in the dressing room instead of going. He tells her about seeing all of them again and how it felt. He tells her that Bev had seen all of them die when she had been in the Deadlights. He tells her that he called Stan the weakest. He tells her how he joked about sacrificing Eddie. He tells her he will feel guilty for those statements for the rest of his life.

He tells her when he found his token he relived the experience in the arcade again. He tells her how it felt to remember why he was so terrified of being gay and how that got worse when he remembered what happened to him and Eddie when he left. He tells her he remembered dating Eddie while he was there but Eddie was married to like, a woman, and he knew he could never mention that happiness he briefly felt to Eddie again. He tells her about It taunting him for his “Dirty Little Secret” and how he felt so rotten and so disgusting and untouchable after hearing that part of him being reduced to  _ that _ .

He tells her how he was the real coward and nearly ran away but only stayed because he remembered Stan. He tells her about killing Bowers in order to protect Mike and how it felt so viciously right because he remembered all the hurt he felt as a kid as he drove that axe into his skull. 

He tells her about how they went back into Neibolt again. He tells her how Stan’s head grew spider legs and attacked his face and how Eddie froze. He tells her that he told Eddie to be brave. He tells her about the cistern and the greywater. He tells her about the three doors and the fucking demonic pomeranian that all things considered, was still pretty cute. He tells her about starting a Rock War with a spider clown and how he lost when he got caught in the Deadlights. He tells her what he saw in the Deadlights—so unlike the deaths Beverly had seen for he saw everyone living and existing in a life better off without him. 

He tells her how Eddie saved his dumbass that failed to listen to Mike. He tells her that Eddie paid the price for it in the form of one ot It’s claws shooting through his torso, splattering blood across Richie’s glasses. He tells her that he held his jacket to Eddie. He tells her that Eddie had told him, “I fucked your mother.” He tells her that he wanted to hear that Eddie loved him. He tells her he loves Eddie Kaspbrak and he knew it was his fault that Eddie was going to die. He tells her he knew he was cursed and dirty and was the reason Eddie was hurt. 

He tells her that the others thought Eddie was dead and were going to leave him down there but he carried Eddie out of there. He tells her that he finally understood what deadweight was like because that’s what it felt like carrying Eddie and he was certain that Eddie was going to die. He tells her that he didn’t think he would have made it out with Eddie weighing him down but then Ben had helped him. He tells her he would have been okay had no one helped him and he had collapsed and just died down there with Eddie. He tells her that Myra screamed at him and he knew he had to leave. He tells her he had to remove himself from the equation and leave because it would yield the best results for everyone involved.

“Everything was just too much.” He sobs. “I needed it to stop because I realized we’re all Losers but I’m the only one that’s actually a fucking loser. Even if I knew Eddie and Stan were alive, I still had nothing the way they did. Bill had his wife and a writing career ahead of him. Bev and Ben had each other. Mike had a heading because he was leaving. I had a fucking pathetic carving on a Kissing Bridge for someone that could never love someone like me again. I have this fame and this job I would be returning to but what is it to me anymore? Nothing.” He sighs. “I’m gay, mom. You know that. You always knew that” She nods, speechless.

“I’m so fucking deep in the closet that my ass is in goddamned Narnia and I have to stay there because I basically quit on my fucking career and I’m giving it away to all these racist, sexist, homophobic assholes and just doing what everyone wants me to and being who they want me to be because they don’t like the real me and it doesn’t matter because  _ I _ don’t even like me.” He laughs wetly. 

“Pennywise knew what he was doing when he put that dead puppet in the fucking coffin. That was my future, mom. That’s me now.  _ I’m _ the dead fucking puppet with its strings cut, doing whatever everyone else wants me to, saying the jokes written by a dudebro, pretending like I’m straight and not completely in fucking love with someone I didn’t see for over twenty years who probably hates me for not being there for him and just ditching him because I said Stan was the weakest when it was fucking me. It was always me. I’ve always been the coward.”

“I just couldn’t handle it anymore because I knew I was living this bullshit life and I had no reason to go back. I had you guys but you and dad deserve so much better than me. You’ve done so much to fix me and I’m still this broken fucking thing who fucked up everything I tried to fix in my twenties and I’m sorry you have to deal with all this bullshit all the time from me.”

It hurts to know he actually thinks that and she’s at a loss for words as he trembles next to her. He laughs sullenly, hiccupping around another wave of hysteria. “You probably think I sound so fucking crazy and are gonna have me locked up for all this fucking shit. You can’t believe me. I wouldn’t. Maybe you should lock me up so you don’t have to deal with this anymore.”

“You’re not something I  _ deal  _ with, Richie. You’re my… you’re my baby and I love you through every little thing you’ve been through.” He’s quiet. “And I believe you. I believe every single word you just told me.”

Shock explodes across his features. “You do?”

She nods. “I know you’re telling the truth. It—Pennywise?” He nods. “Pennywise has been getting to me too through all of this, I think. I couldn’t fix anything that was wrong with you or help you beyond what we did because when I interfered bad things always happened to you and I couldn’t let that happen… but the one time I probably should have interfered and I didn’t.”

“When was this?”

“All of this.” She gestures around them as if conjuring up the last several months of hell for her in not having him around and for him having suffered all by himself. “I knew you were going to do what you tried to do in that motel room, Richie.” She swallows down the hard feeling in her throat. “I dreamt it. I saw it. I watched you do it.” A shuddering release of air. “It ended worse in that dream though.” She shakes her head. “I’m just so glad you’re alive, Richie.”

“I’m so sorry, mom.” He wraps his lanky arms around her and she wipes away the tears streaming down his cheeks, holding him close to her as she always has when he’s been hurt or sad. She looks at those blue eyes, eyes that have seen too much and she feels like she’s home as she pulls him closer into her arms.

“It’s going to be okay.” She tells him and she actually believes herself. “I promise.” 

A broken sob.

“I love you, Richie.”

“I love you too, mom.”

She isn’t letting him go. Not this time. Not ever again. She knows everything about her son and she knows he needs her more than ever. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was okay? I struggled to get this one started and am kinda nervous about the end result? I don't want it to feel shitty or melodramatic? Idk. I made an attempt?? My brain is just a foggy mess lately. Yikes. Sorry if this feels very depressed 3rd grader wrote this for a writing assignment? Analogies? We got them in bulk 
> 
> Also yeah Sonia remembered the Toziers. The parents, in my world do remember shit and idc if that makes no sense. I don't know how to write anything coherent. We established this by chapter 2 of this story. But yeah parents cant interfere really but Sonia was SO HAPPY that Eddie seemed to have sudden amnesia upon leaving and was like lol my dying wish is for you to get married so he was so pressured into marrying myra and all that and just made his life miserable again. 
> 
> Does it make sense? probably not? this fits my dumb narrative. you chose to read this. that's on you. not me. Okay? I don't know how to write right now. my mental health sucks so iM TRYING TO DO SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE AND THIS DO BE IT <3 u can roast me tho <3 or like idk kick me.
> 
> Also, it's shoved in there gracelessly but IDC bUT NO ONE TALKS ABOUT THE PUPPET METAPHOR AND WHAT IT REPRESENTS IN ADULT RICHIE AND HOW HE BECAME HIS FUCKNG FEAR LIKE EVERYONE ELSE DID LIKE RICHIE IS THE PUPPET AS AN ADULT BECAUSE HE IS DOING WHAT EVERYONE WANTS AND BEING THIS FAKE PERSON AND NOT HIS AUTHENTIC SELF. I JUST WANNA TALK ABOUT THIS WITH SOMEONE FOR LIKE 2 HOURS BECAUSE I AM SO PASSIONATE ABOUT IT. 
> 
> The fact that it's September? Lowkey DISGUSSTEENGGG. but also happy spooky season. fuck summer. summer depression is way too real and fall just lifts my spirits <3 
> 
> I have a temporary job babysitting rn which is cool because I'll have ~money~ for once so that's rad but that might cut into time writing since my writing usually means staying up till 7am to do stuff but the days I watch the kids begin at 7am and go till 4:45 pm so... we will see how my shitty time management skills handle that. 
> 
> Richie is decorating for Halloween while Eddie screams that it's still summer and Richie is just like... I yearn for control. Eddie isn't that mad though. He likes fall candles. :)


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skip to 7:44 and you have Maggie @ Richie the last chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xX1pMn8LvA
> 
> If I thought I wrote myself into a corner with 38, 39 was a whole different story because it entirely threw off the rhythm I had previously established with my outline. So the outline that had a rough estimate of everything to occur that I planned back in January... ALMOST USELESS RIGHT NOW with the exception of some ~bigger~ events to occur. 
> 
> You're gonna start experiencing more time skips here soon... I think? Do I really know what I'm doing here? No. Most of this has been written in random spurts at like 3 in the morning with minimal guidance with an outline that's barely a thousand words for a fic that is 300k words so wE TRYING. 
> 
> This one was heck hard to get out but an attempt has been made!!! I hope it is okay even if it is probably a little dryer than the previous chapters and DEFINITELY a lot shorter than the previous ones. The last one was 19.6k words and a FUCKING monster to write but I refused to split in half because idk. 
> 
> maybe listen to the wisp sings by winter aid when thinking about reddie and... canon reddie's fate if you wanna make yourself cry. 
> 
> TW: Suicide attempt mentions, drug recovery, poor body image, self-deprecation and negative terminology and slurs used in terms of one's recovery, overall shitty mental health.

Maggie knew that nothing had changed for them. 

**December 2016**

It felt like a dream, something too good to be true, to have her son next to her alive, and not necessarily well, but well enough that she was certain she would not lose him again anytime soon. Maggie could barely keep her hands off of him, having to make sure to “accidentally” bump into him every so often to make sure he did not vanish into thin air and to occasionally slip her hand around his gloved one and squeeze the long, slightly crooked fingers she knew belonged to her boy. 

Richie was definitely not stupid and was more than aware of what she was doing but he didn’t seem to mind and had actually started to sink into the purposeful bumps and give her a reciprocal squeeze when she would pull his hand into her own. While he disclosed most of what had happened to him to lead to him running away and attempting to end his own life, he had not entirely revealed what he had been through since August but Maggie believed it was safe to say that he was completely touch-starved and that was why he was okay with her frequent need for physical touch to ensure that he was indeed there and not a figment of her own distraught imagination.

Holding him all night (as she could not allow herself to fall asleep and wake up to realize everything was a dream and she’d never actually found him) had been a paradox of intense emotion. It was heart wrenching for he’d been wracked with involuntary shivers the entire night after finally surrendering to the sheer amount of emotional and physical exhaustion that came with providing the details of a horrific adolescence she’d been completely unaware of for he’d never given her the gory details until last night and the most recent trauma that occurred after calling a spider-clown a sloppy bitch and watching the (still) love of his life get impaled and nearly die as a result. She could not determine whether the trembling of his body was a result of unpleasant dreams or the withdrawal symptoms that were already starting to rear their ugly head now that she was around and he could no longer numb the pain he’d been avoiding since August. 

However, holding him was also soft and tender in a way that reminded her of the times she’d help him in the same way as she did when he was small. He had no business being able to curl himself up the way he had (although his frame had shrunk significantly as a result of whatever mental and physical torture he’d subject himself to these last few months) when the exhaustion took over and be snuggled that way all night but he deserved her (what she hoped was) warm and comforting hold as he slept fitfully through the night. Being able to hold him as he slept ignited a warmth she had not felt in these dark months of stumbling through an empty, oppressive tunnel that appeared to have no way out. Richie was the bright fire she’d needed— illuminating her path and guiding her out of that depressing place she had suffered in for far too long. 

She feels like she’s finally escaped the perpetual darkness she’d been encompassed in and the light in her life feels brighter than ever, even in the stuffy atmosphere of an airport in Cleveland, Ohio. She’s about to go home and this time it will be with her son. That’s all that matters to her as she sits through yet another weather-related delay with her knee bouncing, chilled hands being slowly warmed with the help of an unsleeved cup of the peppermint mocha latte she’d ordered from Starbucks after getting through security. 

Security had been interesting to say the least. Showing up to the counter with a boarding pass and the ID of someone who had been known to be missing to most of the public had resulted in a few raised brows and startled expressions from those managing TSA. She could immediately see in the way that Richie’s shoulders had tensed and his breathing had hitched, that he was afraid of all of this going public, for everything he’d been through to be exposed to the public before he was in the safety net that was his own mansion; so she took over and quickly explained (without disclosing the more grim, personal details of what Richie had been going through) the jist of the situation and may have slipped them some cash for them to keep their mouth shut and not go posting on their fucking Snapchats or whatever about the fact that they had seen Richie Tozier at the airport and that he was no longer missing.

That was news that could not be publicized until he was protected in their home and where she could keep him under her watchful and not completely (and understandably so) trusting eye. Luckily, nothing had popped up on her phone about her son and security seemed to be understanding about their situation. Midwest folk were certainly more considerate and honest than coastal folk; that was for sure. 

She glanced at her son who sat next to her, head bowed down beneath the shadow of a hood that had been tugged up over his head with cheap sunglasses that were placed over his regular glasses that were in need of replacing for they still had a large crack across one eye as a result of the battle he’d been in with an alien shape-shifting clown. The shades that sat above those were littered with scratches for he’d probably not taken much liberty to care for himself let alone a shitty pair of glasses he probably found at a Dollar Tree or something like that. They’d been part of his surprisingly effective disguise and had (unfortunately) successfully prevented anyone from recognizing him (beyond the security that had taken his ID) since August. 

She also suspected that Richie _needed_ to wear the sunglasses in the harsh lighting of the airport for the migraine that had begun bursting behind his eyes when they first left the hotel; one of earlier symptoms of withdrawal were already beginning the assault against his body. Luckily he had not succumbed to some of the more severe symptoms she could remember from his 20s like convulsions or extreme nausea. They were living on borrowed time. She knew that. Those symptoms would make their presence known sooner rather than later.

Based on their unfortunate history of Richie’s drug-related habits, she has a feeling that these impending symptoms would be best handled in a hospital setting. However, upon suggesting this when Richie awoke with the vice that was starting to throb to the rhythm of his heart rate that morning, he had denied needing to recuperate anywhere except the comfort of his own home. She knew this was solely because he wanted to spend the Christmas holidays at home, next to his parents, and not hooked up to an abundance of IV drips, making an enemy of the hospital staff whilst ferociously begging for some relief for the cravings that are bound to arise and burden him with the mental and physical torture that accompanies that phase of withdrawal.

He has, however, even before she’d arrived in Ohio, agreed to seek out some rehabilitation programs in California once the holidays had passed. Tackling this addiction was something he wanted desperately; he was in a pisspoor mental state as it was and the undue amount of shame he felt after so many years of being clean was not doing his self worth any favors. Richie had been through a lot and maybe that was not an excuse to relapse and use illicit substances again but there was a twisted form of physical comfort that had embedded itself in his mind all those years ago when he took his very first hit and was subject to the numbing euphoria and fell absolutely in lust with the starry-eyed high it gave him when he was twenty and so lost with himself. 

Now, with the most recent resurgence of this desire to alter his mental state and to fall victim to the drug-induced dazed daydream, he was once again so horribly lost and suffering from the throes of an inner turmoil that warped his entire sense of self and pillaged the depths of his abused mind. He was forced to open an unvisited and most excruciating place that had been blocked off for two decades. To have all of the memories, some good, some traumatic, and some based on (what he believed was now) unrequited love to all pour out, and wash over him would be exhausting for anyone. Then to have additional horrors thrust upon him in nearly losing two of his best friends? Maggie could not even imagine the anguish he felt when he left Derry for (what he hoped to be) the last time and took himself off the map. 

It was remarkably unsurprising that he needed something to numb the sheer amount of pain he was victim to after pulling away so fiercely from every single person that loved him. It was not because he was weak or had something inherently wrong with him that would simmer silently until addiction arose once more—no. Richie had been too strong for too long. Stronger than she had ever realized for he had remained silent, allowing the self-doubt she’d speculated being there, to completely consume him until everything just overflowed and overwhelmed him once he returned to what could only be described as hell on earth. 

He deserved better and she had genuinely tried to give him her best and perhaps she had. And maybe her best _was_ good enough—Went and Richie would probably insist that it was more than enough even with all of her own self-doubts. However, the bad that she’d never seen far exceeded what anyone could ever anticipate and no amount of quality parenting could have protected anyone from the hell Richie and all his fellow Losers had been subject to. What she wishes she could have prevented was the aftermath that seemed to toll on Richie more than she could detect in any of the others. Maybe they were just better at hiding it or maybe her son just experienced it at a different intensity because Richie and his way of feeling was just so… _Richie._

His feelings were loud and vibrant and all encapsulating. They did not hesitate. They demanded to be heard and to be acknowledged by all. Whether this was solely attributed to the obvious Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria that accompanied the ADHD that could never be adequately medicated for all it did was mute all the things that made Richie so great or if it was simply because he was Richard Wentworth Tozier, the most beautiful hurricane produced by yours truly (with a small contribution from Went), and was by nature just an intense person in all facets of life—Maggie was not certain. She could speculate. She could be a helping hand. She could comfort him.

So she did by rubbing a gentle hand down his knobby spine. Sure, it was also a comfort to her for it reassured her once more, for the billionth time, that Richie was indeed there. But she knew it was also a comfort to him because she could see the blink-and-miss-it anxious tremors subtly wracking his body and could feel how they immediately evaporated with the soothing motion of her hand. A steady exhale slipped past his lips as he buried his face into his hands, knocking his glasses up to his forehead. 

“You alright?” She asks after taking a cautious sip from the still-steaming drink warming her hands.

“Yeah. Just nervous.” He admits. “Wish Steve could’ve gotten us a private flight.” 

“I know.” She says sadly. “He did try, but—”

“We need to get to dad before Christmas and I want to too. This is okay, mom. I promise. I’m just overestimating my importance to the public and worrying about stupid shit.”

She presses a motherly kiss to his hooded head, offering him a sip of her drink to which he accepts having essentially chugged the snickerdoodle latte he himself had ordered and was probably now kicking himself for not going with a caffeinated beverage. “We’re going to be okay and nothing it going to get out until you, me, and your dad are all on the couch watching _Elf_ or _Home Alone_ or whatever the fuck you wanna watch when we’re home.” She thinks for a second. “And, you could never overestimate your importance, you idiot. You mean the entire world to your father and I and you better not forget that.” She emphasizes her point with a not too forceful jab into the hollow of his left cheek. 

He laughs genuinely at that, the sound absolutely heavenly when it bounces off of her eardrums. “I think _Die Hard_ is the best Christmas movie.” He snickers, taking another heavy gulp from her latte, disregarding the way it is definitely scalding the tip of his tongue right off. 

“If that’s what you want, I’ll let your dad know.” She shakes her head to herself, already texting Went to make sure they have _Die Hard_ somewhere in the house or to check if it’s accessible on one of their streaming devices; and if not, he best be on his way to Target to purchase it. It may seem like she’s indulging Richie like a needy toddler, but she could care less. 

He’s been through a lot and while he’s attempting to mask the stress he’s feeling at the prospect of a public flight and someone making a spectacle of him being found and deducing what _habits_ he’s been indulging in based upon his rather haggard appearance, she can still very easily detect the anxiety coming off of him in aggressive waves. She had made an attempt to work out something with Steve’s upper hand that was a tad more private for his own mental wellbeing, but even with his assistance, it was simply out of the question with how last minute her request had been and with the kind of weather Ohio was currently experiencing. 

Earlier that morning, while Richie was in the shower around four a.m. before what was supposed to be an early morning flight but was now being pushed to early afternoon (as a result of the lake effect snow ravaging through the city), she’d rang up Steve Covall despite the fact that it was incredibly late at night in California (but Steve always had his line open for them especially these last few month with everything that had been happening), to inform him that Richie was found, physically safe, mentally not the best as he was in need of some drug rehabilitation and intensive therapy, and would be returning home with her. 

“Oh my God,” Steve had all but gasped out. She could easily envision the relief evident in his entire body. “You have him?”

“I do.” She had told him. “He’s showering right now. We’re catching a seven a.m. flight with American unless there’s any way you can get us something more private for his sake.” She had been hoping they would somehow work something out so they could have a private jet take them home so Richie would not have to anxiously maneuver his way through an airport after being off the grid for so long. Sure, he was really only a B-List (sometimes a C-List, depending on who you asked) comedian, but that still warranted incessant fan encounters that would probably not be as jovial and lighthearted as they’d been prior to his disappearance. 

“Hang on.” Steve had instructed, having taken a moment to attempt to work out something so she and Richie could get a private plane home. “I don’t think I can get you guys anything until _after_ Christmas and I imagine you all wanna be home with Went.” 

“You would be right.” She had chuckled meekly. “I want to keep this as private as possible for his well being… until we’ve landed. His dad already knows he’s been found and he’s already told all of his closest friends and we don’t want it to get _beyond_ that.”

“We can definitely manage that. You guys just need to be careful with airport security and let me know when you land so I can release whatever his publicist wants to on all his social media platforms and we will also take care of the news media as well.”

“Oh my God,” She had breathed in relief. “You are _really_ too good, Steve. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Mags. I’m just really thankful that he’s been found.” Steve replied. “I’ll withhold all information regarding his mental state and just ask that people respect his privacy which I know no one will do but it’ll be worth requesting once he is in the safety of his own home.” 

“That would be perfect.” Maggie had said just as the sound of Richie’s shower cut off. “Well, I’ll let you go. Richie is about to be ready and we’ll need to be on our way. I’ll call you once we land and we’ll probably have to plan something after the holidays.”

“I would appreciate that… and I would also just like to see him so I can hug the living hell out of him and to yell at him for scaring the shit out of all of us.” 

“We can work that out.” Maggie had snorted, clearly having heard the similarities in his and Eddie’s personalities with that single request. Her son really did have a type. That was undeniable.

The thought of Eddie saddens her as they _finally_ are told they will be eligible to board the plane in fifteen minutes as the snow has finally come to a halt after blanketing Cleveland and its neighboring cities with a thick layer of snow. Them being able to get on does not necessarily mean they will take off once they board; in fact it is quite likely they’ll delay them again while they’re essentially trapped in their uncomfortable seats (slash flotation devices should something go horribly wrong as they’re always reminded of in each safety spiel) whilst snacking upon some of the overpriced carb-loaded snacks purchased at the various kiosks. 

Her sad thoughts of Eddie do not mitigate in junction with the relief she feels about the fact that she will soon be stuffed uncomfortably in a middle seat for Richie needed the aisle seat more than anyone with his garganteously long legs. She genuinely feels bad for Eddie because he is going to have to spend yet another Christmas either with his soon-to-be ex-wife or all by himself should he go off and find a hotel to stay in, in order to avoid her tyranny. 

Went had already taken the liberty to inform the other Losers that Richie was found and while he was not well, he was safe. He did, as she instructed him to (with permission from Richie of course), inform them what their friend had done and advised them to attempt to avoid much interaction with him for the time being as he was going through a whirlwind of emotions. Their holiday cheer would certainly mean a lot to Richie and he would definitely want to hear their voices over a voice-only phone call and they all seemed to be extremely respectful of that. All but Eddie and that made logical sense as Eddie was _supposed_ to be visiting them over Christmas.

Maggie took it upon herself to text Eddie before they had even left for the airport that they would have to postpone his visit because Richie was uncomfortable and was not up to letting anyone see him in his present vulnerable state. 

**Eddie K.**

**Maggie** **: Hey Eds! I know Went already**

**told you guys that we found Richie**

**and that he’s coming home with**

**me today.**

**Maggie** **: We were really excited to have**

**you come see us but Richie is**

**really not up for visitors**

**right now because he does**

**not want anyone to see him**

**like this right now. I’m**

**really sorry and I hope we**

**can make plans for a later**

**date!**

**Maggie:** **We love you so very**

**much and hope to see**

**you as soon as**

**possible!**

She knew it probably wasn’t enough to assuage the situation for the Eddie she had always known liked sticking to a schedule and to have it thrown out of sorts _this_ last minute was undoubtedly going to upset him and she was certain it had given that he _did_ have his Read receipts on, had read the message, but elected to never respond to her or answer her subsequent calls. It was understandable; to have the opportunity for a first Christmas in _years_ that would be spent surrounded by actual family and not a mirror image of the abusive mother that had attempted relentlessly to compromise a potentially decent childhood, taken away so abruptly had to be horribly vexing and induce a plethora of negative feelings. 

Maggie could only hope that Eddie did not lose the trust and sense of security she had formulated with him when he was just a tyke with brown eyes too big for his round face, so cautious and uncertain of the world that he’d been convinced was designed solely to hurt him. Her guilt for cancelling on him was insubordinately high but even though she loved Eddie with all her heart and wanted nothing more than to grant him the first decent Christmas in years, Richie’s needs and wants needed to come before anything else right now. Eddie was like a son to her, but Richie _was_ her son. That did not diminish the value she withheld for Eddie, no. 

She had literally _just_ found her son in quite possibly the most distressing circumstances after nearly coming to terms with the fact that he may have been dead and now she needed to be there solely for him and to produce something more gratifying and more sound than the afflictive environment he’d forced himself to endure since August. She knew Eddie well enough. He might be simmering bitterly with the fact that his plans got thrown astray, but he was a kind person and for her to assume anything negative about him was truly preposterous and unfair to him. He had every right to be upset for the time being, but he knew more than perhaps any of the other Losers how desperate she was to find her son and if Richie wanted to be alone, Eddie was guaranteed to respect Richie’s current wishes. 

Perhaps she can talk to Bill and Audra who she knows don’t have much planned in regards to the holiday. Eddie could always reschedule tomorrow’s flight to go to Bill’s as opposed to LAX. She could even venmo him the money necessary to make that change she thinks to herself as they are instructed to _‘please turn mobile devices to airplane mode for the flight.’_ That will be something to hopefully arrange once they are off the plane and able to head home from LAX. 

xXx

After getting off the plane, managing to get through the airport without anyone recognizing Richie, sending texts of alternative plans to both Bill and Eddie, and messaging Went to inform him that they were off the plane and about to get her car and be on their way to see him, they were finally outside of LAX, comforted in the mild weather that was so much more pleasant than the nose-biting chill of Cleveland, Ohio. Richie was officially back in his home-state. He was (with traffic) just over an hour away from being safe and secure in their home. She had her baby back.

“Good to be back?” She inquires, just for shits and giggles as they reshoulder their duffles as they head toward the parking garage.

He sucks in a dramatic breath, loudly smacking his chapped lips together, “Different flavor of pollution than northern Ohio, but the air isn’t cold enough to feel like actual needles in my fucking lungs— so bonus points for _that_.” She wraps an arm around him, chuckling softly. He still has his humor. No one can take that from him—not even himself it seems. 

He yanks down the sleeves of the sweatshirt that should be far too warm for even this “cool” LA weather. She can see the sheen of sweat already creating a film of sweat around his whiskery upper lip. Normally, she might comment and tell him he’s gonna kill himself with a heat stroke or make some teasing jab about how he is such a stereotypical southern Californian if he really thinks the mid-sixties is cold enough to warrant this cheaply-made fleece-lined sweatshirt.

She decides to press away her concerns for overheating and the Tozier-induced desire to pick fun at her son for she _knows_ why he’s enveloping himself in such attire. He’s not particular comfortable with his body right now and the obvious signs of drug abuse and attempted suicide that is showcased in his physical form. He feels the need to hide— conceal the evidence of the hell he’d been through. 

Even in her ascending age, she manages to remember precisely where her car was parked and good thing, because Richie was starting to become visibly overheated in his clothing much more suited for the harsher winter of Ohio. He tosses his stuff in the backseat alongside hers and slumps into the passenger side. He slides his hood down, wiping away the moisture from his hairline. He lets out a long breath, exhaustion apparent in the lines of his face and circles rounding his bloodshot eyes. 

“You alright?” She asks with genuine concern. 

He nods, huffing out a wry laugh. “Yeah. I’m okay” He glances at her, eyes slightly distorted from behind the cracked lenses. “Thanks… thanks for getting me and for… for never giving up on me.”

She smiles sadly. “I could never.” She tells him, knowing the words will barely scratch the surface with his self esteem in mind. She ignites the engine, pays her fare, and they are on their way. They ride in an easy silence for a bit. It’s not tense, nor is it sad. They are in a reunited company and it feels alright. 

“Uh,” Richie breaks the silence—a gift he’s always had. “Have you told dad...everything yet?”

 _Everything_. A loaded term when it came to the hand they’d been dealt. But she knew what he meant. 

“No.” She answers, sparing him a brief look of acknowledgement. “I didn’t think it was my place to tell. I can if you wa—”

“It’s okay. That’s… that’s good. “ He swallows. “I think I want to.” He raws the bottom of his lip. “After Christmas?” It’s a question.

“I think he would appreciate that, Rich.” She agrees. 

Richie nods, accepting this, processing it. The anxiety of explaining his own living hell vibrant in his mind. It’s not something he necessarily _has_ to do. He should, yes, as explaining the gory details of a shape-shifting, rather homophoic, space clown could easily account for the moments where she nor Went could ever quite fathom what was going on with their son. It would offer a legitimate explanation as to why they had been suffering so many hardships that made no logical sense. Even with the story of the clown, logic was entirely out the window but there was a reason for that and Went should know that. However, if Richie did _not_ want to tell him and did not want her to tell him, Maggie would definitely respect that.

Richie _wanting_ to tell Went—that’s a massive step for him. 

xXx

They make it up the long, winding drive-way, hearts fluttering anxiously as Steve has just instructed Richie’s publicist to release a statement that Maggie, Richie, and Steve all deemed well enough to maintain his privacy but still disclose enough information that no one would be completely deterred by his sudden reappearance and would not be attempting to investigate _why_ he had been missing for so long (but they of course would still attempt to do so).

His blue eyes gaze up at the grand home he’d purchased for himself, a flicker of serenity brief upon his sallow face. He is home. He knows he is. He deserves to indulge himself in the tranquility that is attempting to flow through his veins. Maggie knows she’s certainly letting bliss slowly overtake her as she steps out of the driver seat and realizes they are _all_ home. She is home. Went is probably inside, perhaps having heard the sound of the car pulling up and is now about to make a dramatic spectacle upon seeing their son (for which she will not blame him). And most importantly, Richie is home, and he is here to stay.

He lets out a sigh but says nothing as he slings both her and his own duffle over his shoulders as they head toward the front door. She cannot help but notice that he is slightly struggling under the small weight in a way that he would not have in August. His strength has obviously diminished and she wants to snatch _both_ bags from him to alleviate him from that physical exertion but she does not engage in such urges. He is obviously ravished with intense anxiety so it is best to allow him to act as he normally would and perform the chivalrous act of carrying his mother’s luggage into the home he shares with his parents. 

She opens the front door and before Richie can even step in, Went flies out and engulfs Richie in the biggest dad hug Maggie has ever witnessed in her entire life. Richie lets out a loud grunt as he nearly topples backwards, off the porch, but finds some of his remaining strength to hold them both upright. Went digs his hands into Richie’s hair, a whimper hiccupping in the back of his throat. He looks up, mouthing something to a force unseen. They’ve never been particularly religious but Maggie can assume he’s full of so much gratitude that he feels obligated to thank _someone_ from above—whether it be God, Allah, or a Flying Spaghetti Monster, she does not know. 

He loosens his hold, sliding out of the hug and placing his hands on the stubbly cheeks of their son, tears streaming down his face. “My boy. My beautiful, beautiful boy.” He sobs, stroking his hands down the surface of their son’s face.

“Dad,” Richie chokes out. “I’m forty.” He attempts to joke.

Went pulls him back in. “I don’t care.” He shakes his head. “ _You’re_ my boy and you’re never going anywhere again. You never leave me again and you never, hurt yourself like that again, you hear me?” Went is absolutely beside himself, attempting to clench his teeth together to appear stern and commanding but betrayed by the quivering of his jaw and the tears tracking his own cheeks.

Richie nods, his own ducts overflowing and releasing a flow of liquid. “I’m sorry, dad.”

“None of that right now. I’m just so glad you’re alive.” Went looks at him and sighs sadly. Richie shrinks on himself. He knows he looks bad. 

“I’m sorry.” He self-consciously tugs at his sleeves that have bunched up slightly to reveal the bandages that should probably be changed again soon. 

“ _No._ ” Went demands. “None of that shit.” He exhales, regaining some composure. “It’s okay. You’re home and that’s what matters.”

Richie snorts slightly. “This is all very Hallmark.” He remarks, a nervous smile creeping up his cheeks. 

“Fuckin’ asshole.” Went grumps, pressing a kiss into his in-desperate-need-of-a-cut curls. He _finally_ spares his wife a glance and pulls her into a slightly less bone-crushing hug. “Thank you for getting him, love.” 

She smiles against his lips before melting into a kiss that for the first time since August is not done for mere sanity-sake and to maintain their routine of affection but is prompted by absolute jubilation and lightheartedness. 

Went glances back inside, stepping toward the open front door as he parts from his wife. “I have to tell you guys something before you come in.”

Richie quirks an eyebrow.

“I called him and I tried to tell him what you said but—”

“Wait, who?” Richie interjects, anticipation already bleeding into his long limbs.

“I AM FUCKING CRIPPLED AND CAN’T WALK OUT THERE, DICKARD. GET YOUR FUCKING ASS IN HERE, MORON.” A fast-paced voice they _all_ recognize too easily bellows from the living room. 

Richie loses the very little color he has, shaking his head rapidly. He stumbles back against one of the pillars of the porch. “I-I can’t go in. No.” He begs, already hyperventilating. “I can’t see him, not like _this!_ ”

“I’m not deaf, jackass.” Eddie Kaspbrak snarks from inside their house where he should not be not only because Richie did not want him to be there but because he was not even supposed to be there until _tomorrow_ anyway. “Get the fuck in here.”

If Richie had actually eaten something on the plane, it would definitely be on his shoes right now. He takes a few deep breaths, glancing at his parents as if they have an offereance for a way out of this situation. They do not and maybe, Maggie thinks, this is for the best. Perhaps, seeing his best friend is yet another thing Richie truly needs right now. Maggie gives him a gentle shove inside, following close behind with Wentworth.

Richie steps in, a ghost in his own home. He enters the living room, jaw opening and closing indecisively until he settles on a simple, “Hi Eddie.” 

Eddie stands up, using a cane for support. A grimace grosses his face and while he looks better than Maggie remembers seeing in the hospital—not that that is a fair comparison since Eddie had literally been brought back from the dead— his face is pasty with the exception of the pink scar puckered across his cheek and he is obviously in pain. The flight he must have taken could not have been kind to him in his current state. 

Eddie moves to wobble toward Richie, but Richie quickly makes up the distance, approaching Eddie with a nervous expression. Eddie does not hesitate when Richie is within arm’s reach and yanks him into a one armed hug.

“Dunno why Bev ever said you’d grow into your looks because you look like fucking shit, Rich.” Eddie announces.

Richie attempts to laugh but instead he breaks down into hysterics, wrapping his too skinny arms around Eddie’s frame gently as to not aggravate the injury Richie is convinced that he himself caused.

Eddie has his own tears swimming in his eyes, but he’s never been as prone to the same flow of emotion that Richie has always been. “Should be me crying you asshole.” Eddie says, perhaps as a joke but it nails Richie where it hurts regardless.

“I’m so so sorry.” Richie blubbers, quickly attempting to step away from Eddie and curl back into his shell but Eddie will not release his surprisingly strong one-armed hold around her son. “I shouldn’t have abandoned you after what I di —”

“You didn’t.” Eddie interjects, stepping away from Richie and easing himself back into a seated position on the couch. He closes his eyes, attempting to block out the pain trying to overwhelm his recovering body. “ _You_ got me out of there. Everyone else wanted to leave. _You_ pulled me out and now, I don’t give a single fuck about this ‘ _I want to continue to hide myself from my best friends’_ bullshit. You hid from a-all of us,” Eddie wipes furiously at his eyes, “for long enough. You don’t get to do any of that again and they’re not letting you either .” He cries, jabbing a finger in Maggie and Went’s direction.

He looks at the pair, offering a tired smile and shoulders hunching to ears, embarrassed suddenly by the verbal confrontation against their son. “Hi Maggie.” He says, voice meek in comparison to the tough tones he’d been using on Richie.

“Hi sweetheart.” She walks over, wrapping her arms loosely around his injured body. He is attempting to maintain a collected appearance, but the physical agony is clear in his watery eyes. “Do you have any medication?”

“Yeah. I just took it. Should kick in soon-ish.”

“That’s good, do you need anything else before you go back to verbally accosting my boy?”

“I don’t think so.” Eddie appears a tad more feeble but Maggie cannot help but think that maybe Richie needs to hear what Eddie has to say. Let him have it. 

She looks at her son. “He’s right. I don’t think we _can_ let you do that kind of shit anymore. We won’t.”

Richie’s eyes are downcast. He is silent. 

The fire burns again in Eddie Kaspbrak as he looks desperately at her son. “You got me out of that _place_ and I’m getting you the fuck out of whatever this is and I’m not leaving.”

“But _I_ wasn’t there for you!” Richie’s head shoots up. “You can leave me to this, Eddie. I abandoned you. You shouldn’t—”

“No you didn’t, Richie.” Eddie snaps. “You weren’t there for _all_ of it and I know Myra basically made it so you couldn’t be and you felt like you had to go,”

“But—”

Eddie throws a hand up, immediately halting Richie’s voice. He always had the magic touch that way. “You didn't have to go but something made you feel like you did. I want to be so fucking mad at you for not being the first goofy face I woke up to,” Richie laughs wetly. “But you had your own thing _obviously_ and now you’re back and I want to be here for you.”

“You have your own life and I don’t need someone to fix me. I messed up and I have to fix it. You shouldn’t give up your life because of me.”

“No one is telling me what to do anymore, you _sloppy bitch_.” Eddie snarks.

“Get your own material.” Richie spits. 

“ _Write_ your own material.” Eddie deadpans. 

“Eddie, I can’t ask you to leave your wi—”

“Soon-to-be ex,” Eddie challenges and that flashes as shock across Richie’s face.

“I can’t ask you to do what I couldn’t for you.”

“Well you’re not asking but I am doing it, so deal with it.”

“Eds, I—”

“No, Richie.” Eddie pleads and the tone he bleeds into is enough to guide Maggie and Went out of the room so they can be under the illusion that they have a semblance of privacy when in reality she and her husband are _definitely_ eavesdropping. Privacy be damned. Richie was missing for four months. “I want to do this.”

“Eddie, you need to focus on getting better and I can’t fuck that up for you like I alwa—”

“You never fuck anything up for me you fucking ass munch.” Eddie hesitates. “Okay, well _you_ do, but not shit like this so fucking get your head out of your ass and let me be here for you.” 

“Eddie, I just…”

“Is it because I’m crippled?” Eddie dares.

“Oh, fuck off you can’t play that card asswipe.”

“Well I’m gonna. I’m here so get over it and Merry fuckin’ Christmas.” 

Richie snickers and Maggie knows he’s probably holding himself awkwardly, not fully comfortable in his skin at the moment. “So, uh… divorce?”

“Yeah.” Eddie swallows audibly. “I figured I went through enough hell with the clown,” Went glances at her confused and she just shakes her head and mouths _later,_ “and with my mom and… well _your_ mom kinda helped me realize I didn’t have to stay with _her_ anymore.” He pauses. “You… even without being there made me realize I was _brave_ enough to leave her.”

“So since you’re not married to the actual clone of your mom anymore, do I get to hit that?”

“Oh _fuck off,_ Richie!” Eddie snaps and she can hear the sound of something whacking against skin—Eddie’s cane against Richie’s knobby knees most definitely. Richie yipes and the two fall into the same banter they’ve engaged in since they were ornery kindergarteners on the Derry playground. 

She allows it to fade into background noise before turning to her husband. “When did he show up?”

“Straight to the point, Magdalene?” He waggles his brows. She raises her brows. 

He sighs heavily. “He got here just when you texted me that you had landed. Must’ve gotten the address from Mike or Stan or something.” He scratches his salt and pepper head thoughtfully. “Just showed up with two big ass suitcases that fucking weighed a _ton_ each and was clearly in a lot of pain so I got him his medication and set him up on the couch.”

Went crosses his arms across his chest. “I thought about giving you guys a heads up beforehand, but honestly I was just in shock and then before I knew what to really do, you guys were home and well, yeah.” 

She nods in understanding. “So looks and sounds like,” she observes aloud based upon what Eddie has been saying to Richie and the fact that Went informed her that he came with two large suitcases (which isn’t necessarily a big deal for someone like Eddie Kaspbrak who has always come over prepared and over packed even for the short, overnight sleepovers held at the Tozier residence in their youth), “Eddie will be with us _beyond_ Christmas.”

“Seems like it.” Went agrees, unable to contain his own smile.

“You, stop.” Maggie scolds. “We _just_ got our son back and he’s fucking traumatized you asshole. Stop it.” 

“What?!” Went exclaims, a devilish grin upon his features. “I just think this will truly aid in both of their own recovery processes. Gee willikers, Mags! Always assumin’ the worst in me, arentcha?”

“Rightfully so.” She states, flicking him not unkindly on the forehead. 

xXx

Maggie wants nothing more than to give both Richie and Eddie a brilliantly stellar welcome-home dinner and to celebrate both of them striving for their own forms of wellness. She can see that Eddie is very poorly attempting to conceal his own pain that has been aggravated by his flight and by skipping out on today’s physical therapy in order to beat her and Richie back to Malibu. She obviously notices and forces him to rest and to swallow down yet another dose of pain medication (which she unfortunately feels compelled to hide from her son) before preparing a heartier, nutrient-full meal for the rather wan looking duo. 

Eddie's intended length of stay is presently up in the air but that is something that _must_ be discussed once they feel a tad more settled. He cannot simply abandon his job (which he is still on paid leave from due to his injuries) nor can he skimp out on his P.T. which is crucial to him progressing in his recovery so he can (hopefully) regain full range of motion with zero twinge of pain in his body ever again. He needs to make a wise decision about what he intends to do about the latter specifically as Maggie will completely refuse him to stay if he does not plan of finding someone to work with him while he’s here. 

Sure, he wants to be here for Richie as he’d insisted to her son’s face quite loudly, but he cannot possibly help her recovering boy whatsoever should he let his own recovery go to shit. Additionally, she knows Eddie’s presence will be a wonderful morale boost for Richie, but she fears how he will handle the uglier side of his present affliction that is simply waiting to appear. Richie is going to struggle. That is inevitable with addiction and is especially the case now with the mental state Richie has to recover from on top of the unpleasant mental state that comes from drug withdrawal. They’re in for it with him. She would be lying if she said she was not fearful for this impending round of withdrawal symptoms.

Maggie finishes dinner with the help of her husband while the two other men tease each other relentlessly from the living room. She feels so unbelievably delighted and at ease in a manner that feels entirely foreign to her after sulking around this mansion with an excruciating amount of anguish that left her almost entirely listless aside from the occasional emotional outbursts that would tear their way out of her at times. As she sets the table with a tasteful amount of whole foods, that are still light and easy for Eddie’s own health concerns (back again for they were reinstated with the combined efforts of two warped minds) and for Richie’s appetite that she knows has diminished significantly since she last saw him. The meal is not everything one might expect for a Christmas Eve Eve meal, but it is enough for them and a great way to kick off what should be the first evening of genuine jolly feelings among them. 

Unfortunately a wrench is thrown into these plans with Richie’s body deciding _now_ is the best time to begin the physical pandemonium of withdrawal symptoms. Once called for dinner, reminding her too much of the times she called for gawky looking teens, they settled themselves down, eagerly eyeing the meal before them. 

“It looks great, Maggie.” Eddie comments with a charmed grin. 

“Mmm.” Richie agrees intelligently, already loading his plate with some gluten-free couscous. 

They begin picking at their food with the exception of Richie who despite having loaded his plate, always having eyes bigger than his stomach, has not touched a thing. Maggie does not even notice as she and Eddie are presently discussing their mutual interest of this current season of _Hell’s Kitchen_. 

She is made aware when Went makes the vocal observation. “You alright, Rich? You’re looking a little peaky.”

Richie nods wordlessly, pulling a stuffed fork to his face with great effort. His sleeve slides down a fraction to which he quickly pulls it up and the jolted motion melts his face into a sickly greenish-grey. He knocks his elbows against the table before stumbling away and toward the closest bathroom. 

“That would be the start of withdrawal.” Went sadly informs Eddie with a sigh. Maggie elects to not inform them that Richie’s withdrawal had already began that morning in the form of his earlier migraine

“Uh, why don’t I sit with him?” Eddie suggests, reaching for his cane. Went is already clearing off Richie’s plate as he has assumed the duty of sitting with Richie in the bathroom for however long this present wave of extreme nausea is to last.

“He’s not gonna wanna you to see this, honey.” Maggie explains. “He never even wanted us there when he went through this before.” She feels a pang in her chest knowing that they are merely repeating the same dreadful cycle. She must keep in mind that this is different. This has been spawned as a result of a demon clown. It is not their fault. It is not their son’s fault. 

She points to Eddie’s plate, half-emptied. “Finish up, dear.”

“I think he needs to get used to me being around for this.” Eddie insists, getting up and cutting Went’s path off. “I got this.” He says sincerely, hobbling out and toward the bathroom Richie decided to crisen. 

Maybe he did have this. Eddie knew how to knock down Richie’s walls and to reach into his darkest innermost circles more than even she did. 

“They really have something special.” Went remarks not with his usual tongue and cheek attitude. He’s merely stating the obvious. They have always cared about each other and twenty-two years of amnesia and trauma aside, they would always be there for one another through it all, even in their lowest lows.

Richie and Eddie do not end up returning to the table after that. The two end up spending most of the evening in the downstairs half-bath (if it could be referred to as such given the size of it) with Eddie occasionally loudly scolding Richie for not drinking water or at least trying to nibble on the oyster crackers that Maggie brought to them an hour into his sick spell and with Richie replying with a moan, crying as his empty stomach kept attempting to expel what was not there; hands trembling as they crave the hold of a syringe or a dollar bill to breathe in something mystically mind-altering in order to forget the mental pain that darkens the landscape of his brain.

Maggie and Went, while disappointed that they could not indulge the boys with a homemade meal and then relax in the living room with Richie’s idea of a Christmas movie ( _Die Hard_ ), followed by Eddie’s idea of one (an actual Christmas movie: _Christmas Vacation_ ), are put to ease for it is evident that they are each equally content on supporting one another. It may not be an ideal way for all of them to spend their holiday, but they’re together and Maggie can only hope that things will get better with time. 

Truthfully, it won’t be hard for anything to seem better to her right now especially compared to the fact that these last few months have been the worst of her entire existence thus far. Even with her son sick and his best friend gimpy, things feel better than they have in a long time. 

They discard their original plans to eat dinner together and watch movies, and end up cleaning the kitchen, offering several times to take Richie off of Eddie’s still weakened hands, but are met with defiance on Eddie’s end. He with all the disdain for germs and all things gross which has only enhanced itself by the hand of Myra, is more than willing to push that aside to be there for their son. 

However, even with Eddie’s insistence, they both know they cannot allow Eddie to shoulder that type of responsibility all night and Went has already decided that he will stay up with Richie as they already know how this part of withdrawal goes. It’s only going to get worse and Richie is only going to get more irritable. 

As Maggie finishes stowing away the leftovers they can hopefully enjoy at a later time, she and Went both seem to realize they’ve not heard anymore of Richie’s pathetic moaning or Eddie’s voice that has been a tossup of kind and soothing, and stern and scolding for quite a while now—a good sign, perhaps. She puts away Richie’s cleaning supplies (purchased by him and selected by her as Richie was previously convinced it would be just fine to use wood cleaner on his marble countertops) back under the sink and decides she probably should go and find Eddie and assist him into one of the other guest rooms so they can all get ready for their own bastardized versions of restless sleep.

They step out and just as she’s about to call for Richie and Eddie, something innate pulls her toward the living room where she finds the two sound asleep, snuggled together on the couch as closely as their battered bodies will currently permit them. Someone, most likely Richie, has pulled the coffee table close to the couch where Eddie’s shorter legs are presently propped up atop of a few of the softer throw pillows. His back is supported as needed due to his injuries with blankets that have been rolled up to mimic a pillow in order to comfortably brace his spine. Richie has his head in the lap of his best friend, body stretched across the remaining cushions, with one of Eddie’s hands stuck in his curls, halted from what was surely an earlier attempt to soothe her son with gentle massaging motions until sleep claimed them both. They appear content, more comfortable than she’s seen either of them since coming home. 

Some things never change. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Republican comedian" is kind of an oxymoron if you think about it. 
> 
> I hope this was okay even though it was super short. It was really hard to get started. But an attempt was made? The pacing is always an issue with my ass and the organization was kinda tough this time around and just executing this chapter was rough. I know the end is kinda sloppy but I got to the point where I was like I'm either just gonna write this out or say fuck it and not do it so I decided I was content with ending it there and I hope that's okay? If not? Oh well? Take it up with my secretary.
> 
> I think we're on a home stretch? I've been saying that a lot but I'm in a funky headspace of how to carry out the next sequences of events because there are about 4-ish MAJOR events to occur and then more minor ones and how to put them together?? Difficult. Stay tuned? Maybe? Send help?
> 
> I hope this one was interesting enough despite the potential sloppy bitch nature of it!! Let me know ya thoughts in the comments please!!! It gives me serotonin and the illusion of conversation because I'm taking a semester off of school to finish this fic guys... jkjk I'm just too broke to attend right now lmaoooo
> 
> Also I can't believe I have to say this: Please do not repost this and claim it as your own. So please don't copy and paste every single chapter on your own platform. If you're ~Inspired~ by it to stop writing Maggie as a bad mom bc she's not? THAT'S FINE. what's not fine iS LITERALLY COPYING AND PASTING EVERY SINGLE WORD INTO YOUR OWN ACCOUNT AND PRETENDING IT'S YOURS? Kindly fuck off. It has been taken down... I just feel like I need to make a disclaimer now which sucks?
> 
> Richie and Eddie are baking together and have been walking Ophelia every single day again. Life is good. Fall is upon us <3


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 24th is the anniversary of me seeing IT CH 2 and getting officially roped into this fandom because I saw IT CH when it came out but it didn't ~draw me in~ the way CH 2 did. 
> 
> any of my friends on here that i messaged on tumblr/instagram (i'm lookin at u dylanj10000, pink_mistakes, yippie_ki_yay and coralinejones) while writing this can vouch for the fact that this took me too long to start up and i was panicking incessantly over it because i am a fuckin dumb bitch who injects myself with dumb bitch juice on the daily so like please be easy on my ass because this chapter is definitely subpar at best because for the first time since writing this entire thing, i sat with an empty doc for DAYS, without even an inkling of an idea of what was gonna happen here. 
> 
> tldr: if i messaged you crying while writing this from the sheer amount of self doubt and panic, no i didn't. 
> 
> This one was by far the hardest to start, execute, and finish. Idk what happened. I just had no idea what I was doing and had to completely start anew in terms of my outline and figuring this out. Lowkey uncertain if I made the right choice here in publishing this one but I felt like this filler chapter needed to exist before the events upon the horizon. I'm genuinely just in a bad mental state -throws up peace signs- and not doing too spicy so like idk don't expect much outta this one??? be easy on my ass??? It's also just primarily filler content .
> 
> catch the barry reference because richie already said he was planning the show since we all make richie's career mimic hader's... but the reference is from s2 so richie gonna be inspired by his own life
> 
> TW: discussions of healing, brief mentions of eating disorders (orthorexia), poor mental health, past suicide attempts, history/recovery of drug use, internalized homophobia

Maggie knew that Richie was in the best hands possible. 

**January 2017**

Despite everyone enduring the throes of Richie’s withdrawal and the obvious anxiety that riddled the loved ones of someone who had been missing for four months and had just attempted to end their life, and of course both Maggie and Went finally receiving the gory details of the hell Richie and his fellow Losers had been through due to an extremely prejudice shape-shifting clown, the holidays were actually quite pleasant for the Toziers and Eddie Kaspbrak. Their expectations were understandably low what with everything that they’d been put through recently, but the quality time spent together and simply being in the company of loved ones manifested a sense of bliss that they were all in desperate need of and for just a moment, diminished Maggie’s relentless concerns and ceaseless worries for both Richie and Eddie. 

With Richie’s diminished appetite and physical health ailing as a result of the mental toll overcoming addiction and the aftermath of an attempted suicide had on one’s body, their Christmas dinner was fairly light but still pleasant nonetheless as they easily fell into comfortable conversation, and occasionally some playful goading at the dining table. Their indulgence in the sugary holiday-themed treats that Maggie and Went had baked was minimal for the same reasons and because Eddie immediately turned his nose away, distraught in a manner too familiar to how he acted the first time he was offered sweets at the Toziers back when he and Richie were just tykes. 

Eddie’s fear of ill health and an unhealthy fixation on healthy eating that nearly bordered upon what Maggie would consider an eating disorder, was quite evident in the amount of distress he held tension in his shoulders, set his jaw tightly, and the way he spoke cursively about the obviously fabricated and exaggerated detriments to consuming anything that was above a certain caloric amount and was not featured in some bullshit anti-vaxxer magazine. However, with some gentle words on her end and a moment of thought reframing, Eddie did seem to relax and permitted himself to have a few of the festively decorated cutouts. 

They did of course make time for a plethora of Christmas movies— although Maggie did question the label of “Christmas movie” for some of the films her son had picked. Richie was convinced that if a movie featured _one_ Christmas-related scene where they may have simply whispered mistletoe or something at some point or hell, had any scene with an old paunchy man with a white beard, it was _somehow_ a Christmas movie. She wasn’t one to question him; Eddie did that for her in the form of lighthearted name calling and teasing banter that made her feel like she’d been transported back in time. 

Gifts were not a huge spectacle between any of them. Maggie and Went had gotten Eddie a few small gifts after they’d made their initial plans for his visit. They didn’t get him anything lavish for all that they loved him, they did not completely know the grown and matured version of Eddie Kaspbrak. He was proving to be somewhat the same the more they were around him, but they had to play it safe when it came to gift shopping. The gifts they’d selected included a few small homeowner items that may help ease him into the life of a divorcee (even though it was looking like he would not need them anytime soon as he was essentially becoming a residence in Richie’s home) and a pair of running shoes with the reminder that he would, someday be able to run like the wind again. Hearing those words and touching the thick and sturdy soles of the Asics was enough to nearly pull Eddie into tears of joy. 

The likelihood of finding Richie had been incredibly slim during the holiday shopping season. However, Maggie still held onto some naive hope (and she’s so glad that she did) and had gotten Richie a few things prior to finding him as a way to achieve a sense of normalcy amongst the feelings of anguish and sorrow that had burdened her and Went for four months of absolute uncertainty. 

She had gotten him some clothes (that would be a tad too loose right now but with Eddie around to bully Richie into eating _actual_ meals that would not be a long lasting problem she hoped) that were not a complete and utter eyesore but still served his rather eccentric tastes for patterns and brighter colors and she had also given him a photo she’d found whilst going through their family momentos when she’d been overcome with heartache for her missing son. Something in her, as this particular photo tugged at her heart strings, propelled her to preserve the memory in a tasteful frame as opposed to being lost in the pages of a dusty album that only saw the light of day when she was hurting in some way. So she slipped it out of the picture slot, took it to CVS, had them resize it, placed it in a tasteful frame, and wrapped it with trembling fingers to hopefully give to a son she had, at the time, been unsure if she would ever get to see again. 

Luckily, she _did_ get to see him and hold him once more and had the privilege of giving him the tender photo of her, Went, and him at the zoo when Richie had been just a toddler. Richie’s eyes had gone visibly misty as he unwrapped the rectangular shaped gift and smiled down at the picture that featured him, chubby-cheeked and beaming in between his grinning parents, his own blue eyes not directed on the camera before him, but focused on something out of frame— Maggie remembers it being the meerkats that had captured his easily diverted attention.

Even with the obvious strain in their typical dynamics and the precariousness for Richie and Eddie’s physical and mental wellbeing, this holiday was more than enough for all of them to be happy right now, and that’s all any of them needed after months— no _years_ of unhappiness given the self-doubt, the confusion, and the general malaise that warped their sense of self as a result of the alien-clown related trauma they’d been victim to since their adolescence. Being together, while not a cure-all to their staggering amount of problems, it was clear that Richie and Eddie were both spiraling upward at a rate that surely would not have occurred had they elected to continue their paths of recovery alone. They had a lot of ways to go, but it was easier to take the journey alongside someone you loved— even if one did not know the extent of that love.

It was blatantly obvious that Eddie would be staying beyond the holidays given the rather loud conversation he’d had with Richie when Maggie and Richie first got home and of course with the overloaded (even by Eddie Kaspbrak terms) suitcases he’d brought with him. He formally declared that he was going to remain in Malibu, at Richie’s mansion, for the foreseeable future after Richie delved deeper in the physical paroxysm of withdrawal in order to serve as a source of comfort and to potentially “pull him out” of his current headspace the way Richie had literally pulled him and carried him out of the cistern in Neibolt. 

Luckily, with the combined efforts of Maggie, Went, and Eddie (but mostly Eddie), Richie did not have to be hospitalized for the detox process. It had been hellish to say the least, what the incessant sweating, the extreme bouts of nausea and vomiting, and the screaming matches between Eddie and Richie that Maggie and Went could hear all the way from their bedroom in the guest house where they only went because Richie and Eddie both urged them to not worry about Richie’s pathetic state and to just go off to bed. It was extremely tolling but they all managed to get through it. 

Sure, there had been a few moments when Richie was nearly listless and Eddie had literally begged him with a desperate voice and few panicked pokes of his cane for Richie to just _please_ go to the hospital so that he could be better monitored and at least get some of his lost nutrients replenished with the help of an IV; but Richie would simply wave him off, murmur a tired “fuck off” and miraculously get through the episode with Eddie eyeing him warily whislt forcing him to chug his body weight in water and blue gatorade (Richie’s favorite flavor because according to Richie blue _was_ a flavor). Maggie knows there would have been no way Richie would have gotten through this detoxification without hospitalization if it weren’t for Eddie. 

Eddie had obviously put forth a significant amount of effort into ensuring that Richie was okay; however this did not mean he allowed his own progress to be shifted onto the back burner—primarily because not a single Tozier would allow him to do just that. As Eddie would be staying with them for an indefinite amount of time, Maggie and Went had taken it upon themselves to help him have all of his medical records from New York, along with some notes with the team of physical therapists he’d been working with transferred to a few specialists in Malibu so that he could get situated with a team of physical therapists in the area. He had already had a few appointments, some of which he’d had Richie accompany him to. The sessions often left him rather achy and exhausted but he was almost always aglow with a fiery satisfaction that came with knowing that he was truly executing the most effort that he possibly could (something Myra never let him do) and was making powerful strides toward a full physical recovery. 

Mentally was a different story. Maggie always felt like Eddie should get some form of counseling as her son had been receiving on and off since his twenties— and now? Eddie _really_ needed it in her opinion. What with the twisted mind of his abusive mother and the cycle he’d accidentally fallen into by marrying Myra whereby he relived the same tormented manipulation once more, and of course the mental toll one had when struggling for basic mobility after suffering an incapacitating injury, it was quite obvious that Eddie probably had heaps of trauma that should be discussed not just with her in private as he often did, but with a professional that could potentially offer legitimate and more objective guidance and help him formulate a healthier mindset that would convince him that he _is_ as strong as he longs to be and the world isn’t this horrific hellscape (with the exception of Derry, of course) that was designed to harm him in some way or another. 

Maggie would continue to be a source of emotional support for him for as long as the forty-year-old continued to be quite dismissive about his own mental health—which was somewhat understandable given that he wanted to focus most of his limited energy upon his physical ailments above all. She would hold onto the various recommendations for therapists that specialize in childhood and adulthood trauma for him once he was more mobile and expressed more readiness for that type of step. There was no rush. Eddie would come forth when he knew he was comfortable. 

Richie’s recovery was a bit different than Eddie’s as there was no waiting for him to be “ready” to address his mental state or anything like that because the primary focus of him getting better relied on accosting all negative thought processes at the core and attempting to enhance his mental wellbeing which had never been anything beyond subpar for a majority of his life— especially after leaving Derry following his unexpected return due to an oath made in his adolescence and being riddled with the resurgence of his own internalized homophobia and excessive shame pertaining to who he was.

He did have some physical obstacles to overcome in order to really get a hold of the mental aspect of his healing, but they were nothing compared to what Eddie had to go through seeing as Eddie’s physical afflictions compromised his entire body to carry out the most simple of tasks. Richie’s detox, while it may have seemed to be the hardest part of his recovery as it did pose as a threat to his physiological functioning, was in reality a minor hill among the Everest-ic mountains he had in terms of addressing the profusion of cynical thinking and self hatred that served to fuel this most recent relapse in drug abuse to numb the daunting thoughts that darkened his entire view of himself in the world, urged him to isolate from his family and friends, and spiraled him into believing that his only way out of this hellish mental state was by suicide. 

Once the comparably minor physical aspect of Richie’s recovery was over and he’d gotten the stitches removed from his healing wrists (that only she and his father had seen thus far for he was far too ashamed to let Eddie, even with his immense knowledge to minimize scarring and maximize aesthetically pleasing healing especially after being kebabed by a killer clown, to see), he managed, with the help of Eddie’s extensive research and some recommendations from Steve, to get into an intensive outpatient rehabilitation program for recovering addicts and of course a therapist to discuss the abundance of other feelings that definitely did not help the already-sour feelings that came with being a third-time recovering addict and of course addressing the issues he had surrounding the trauma (that he had to twist the details of for while everything he went through was the truth, it would not be accepted by a majority of specialists without immediate institutionalization) that had distorted and diminished his self worth dramatically.

The therapy was definitely proving to be helpful as Richie was starting to appear less closed off and more free flowing and simply like the Richie they all knew and loved. Maggie was also fairly certain that Eddie’s presence in his life was influencing his progress. He was maintaining his sobriety and was easing out of his shell. He still had ways to go but Maggie could see that whatever he discussed in therapy was getting through to him even if sometimes the sessions, while helpful, did open up wounds he’d been attempting to stanch for too long. 

It was after just the second session where Richie had completely broken down before Maggie. He’d come home just about ten minutes after Went had left to take Eddie to an appointment that Richie would not be able to make simply due to the conflicting schedules of that particular day— although she knows that Richie, if it weren’t for Eddie’s insistence, would have neglected his own appointment in order to support Eddie at his. 

When Richie came home that day , they had exchanged the typical standard questions of how his session had gone, how he was feeling, and anything that just scratched the surface for Maggie did not feel it appropriate to make him feel as if he had to open up everything he was discussing at his appointments. She wanted him to willingly trust her to divulge whatever amount of details he was comfortable in sharing with her. 

“Do you hate me?” Richie had asked once the conversation pertaining to that day’s session had drawn to a close and they were about to shift their attention to a rerun episode of _Flip or Flop_ where Christina had insisted, for the millionth time, that they had come across their _“hardest flip yet.”_

No longer focused on the rather revolting and filthy way this home had been abandoned, Maggie had turned to her son to see his rather melancholic expression, brows furrowed together. “Excuse me?” She had not been certain that she’d actually heard him right so she turned the TV off.

“Do you hate me?” He swallowed. “Do you think dad or Eddie or the Losers hate me?” He repeated and met her eyes which were swimming behind his lenses, magnified to showcase the hurt within them. 

“No.” She had answered bluntly. “I don’t think anyone could ever hate you, Richie.” 

“But,” the pain in his expression bore into eyes, he took deep breaths as if he had been trying to evade the wash of emotion that threatened to overtake him. “I...I’m a bad friend.”

“Why do you think that?” She had pressed, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder which he seemed to welcome with the way he melted into the touch. 

“I just ditched all of them and left them there. I can’t… I don’t even talk to them really. I text, sure but it all feels so wrong and fake and like I don’t belong because of what I did.” He worried at the bottom of his lip, averting his eyes from her, focused on the wall behind her head. “And just what I put you and dad through with everything.” He gave a full body shudder. “I’m just…. I’m so sorry.”

Maggie had shook her head at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Richie. You made a mistake. You were scared and hurt and no one holds you accountable for that. Everyone is just glad you’re back and you can take your time in engagement with everyone. There is no rush, honey.” 

He rubbed at his face which had been stubbly. “I just feel like I don’t deserve a good life anymore.” He nibbled on his thumbnail. 

“But you do.” She reassured him. “You of all people deserve nothing but good after all the hurt you’ve been through. Richie, you messed up and you’re fixing yourself and everything else in your life. It’s going to take time but you’re going to get there. Okay?”

He had not seemed entirely convinced and then asked a question no mother ever wants to hear: “Do you think I’m a bad person, mom?

“I think you are deeply… _human_. You did a lot of terrible things to yourself, us, and your friends but do I think that defines you? No. ” Maggie told him, and he just nodded wordlessly.

“Do you think I’m going to be okay?” He had questioned, insecurity bleeding into his tone as tears threatened to spill from expressive baby blue eyes. 

“I promise you.” She declared and he had immediately fallen into her arms, holding her tightly and even if it wasn’t the brightest moment for Richie for he had only just begun addressing such skewed thinking patterns and negative self perceptions, she knew she had imprinted something upon him that day and that Richie could perhaps, finally see a flicker of light at the end of the proverbial tunnel of depression that had consumed the Tozier family for far too long.

Recovery required time, energy, and was anything but linear. There was no distinguished timeframe for one to abide by when fulfilling their goals and if they were above or behind what was deemed “average” by the professional community (and said measure of time was only established to fill a textbook with some menial guidelines), that was alright. As long as there was some form of direction to go toward and a desire to get there— well, to Maggie, that’s all that truly mattered. Eddie would get to a mentally and physically sound place in his own time and hopefully reemerge as the fierce, brave man that Maggie always knew he had deep inside himself. Richie would eventually overcome his own demons and realize his worth and continue to propel himself into a life where he could celebrate not only his accomplishments but the person behind them— _himself._ They had a lot of work to do, but Maggie knew that independently they were driven to put forth the necessary effort and together, they made such daunting paths exceptionally more easy for one another.

Richie, while still swamped with his undue shame for leaving all of his loved ones was presently demonstrating a great deal of progress in that today he had agreed to see his manager who was one of his few closest friends outside of the Losers Club (whom he had yet to join in on one of the group video calls that Eddie would attempt to urge him into every single weekend). Steve was desperate to see Richie again and not simply because there was a need to touch bases to discuss the public response to Richie’s return and to figure out his next career move after months of radio silence but because Steve just genuinely missed someone who was not only a client or an ex to him, but was a friend whom he obviously valued a great deal. 

In terms of how the public did react to Richie’s return, it was strikingly positive as a majority of people supported him wholeheartedly and while the gorier details were not broadcasted, his supporters and even people who were not even necessarily big time fans of Richie Tozier vocalized and tweeted their support for a quick recovery in regards to Richie’s mental health which they had divulged the fact (not to the full extent obviously) that he’d been struggling and was making strives to better himself and to just feel good again. As one could expect with the surfeit of assholes on the internet, there were some nastier remarks and (unfortunately accurate) speculations about Richie’s drug abuse and someone had somehow coined up the (again, unfortunately accurate) theory that Richie had attempted to end his own life and they were making a huge spectacle about it. Other assholes, while of a different breed but still assholes nonetheless, exhibited absolutely no sympathy and merely reduced Richie’s disappearance to him being yet another selfish celebrity that only cared about himself. Sadly, “caring for himself” was one of the falsest things uttered by anyone on the internet.

These negative comments were just drops in the sea of support most exhibited for Richie. But, Richie, who lacked the ability to view himself more positively and to accept a reality where he was as deserving of the love and respect he truly _should_ receive, only ever saw the negative comments. What made it worse, is Richie had the tendency to _believe_ those comments. Steve would hopefully be able to get through to him to some degree in that while Steve was his friend, he had a no bullshit attitude (awfully similar to another person in Richie’s present life) and was not going to lead him astray in regards to what people were saying about him which would mean he would be honest and tell Richie the facts: people cared about him and were just simply waiting for him to be back on his feet.

Her son was notably anxious about Steve coming over and Maggie did not think it had much to do with the impending discussions pertaining to his career or the aforementioned support (or lack thereof in the eyes of her son) but more so related to the fact that Steve would be meeting Eddie Kaspbrak who for the first time since his memory seemed to click back into place, Richie was finally realizing the flagrant similarities between the two men and Maggie suspected he was afraid the two would realize that Richie had a propensity for closely engaging with below-average height (although they’d deny such statements) men with spitfire attitudes and a desire to ensure his safety as a result of his minimal to nonexistent self-preservation skills. Maggie also knew that Richie was fearful of Steve disclosing the fact that they used to date as he had not come out (again) to Eddie or anyone besides her and Went. Maggie knew Richie had nothing to worry about when it came to the acceptance he would most definitely receive from the Losers ( _especially_ Eddie), but Richie’s anxiety thwarted such logical thinking. 

While her son was never one to sit still, the anxious energy he was giving off in waves was beginning to stress her and everyone within his vicinity out. He was literally vibrating with nerves and kept bouncing about the house like Tigger on a heavy dose of cocaine (which was perhaps not the best comparison for someone recovering from addiction but Maggie could not think of anything else to describe her boy). He’d changed his clothes a minimum of four times since this morning and he had to keep re-brushing his hair because he kept dragging his hands through it as the nervous energy trickled into his long fingers. 

“Your hairline is begging you to stop.” Went teased him as Richie walked through the living room in excessively long strides. Richie shot him a sour look. He had recently gotten his hair trimmed shorter than he’d worn it in years which only served to make him more insecure about aforementioned hairline but both Maggie and Eddie had agreed that it made him look more professional and also allowed everyone to see his face and eyes a lot better.

“What? I would know.” His father snickered back, indicating to his own thinning hair.

“Went, leave him alone.” Maggie attempts to soothe, reaching out and grabbing her son’s hand to sit him down in front of the TV where the rest of them are barely able to enjoy an episode of _Hell’s Kitchen_ as it’s nearly impossible to focus when a 6’2” noodly man is running around his house like a chicken with his head chopped off. 

“Why are you so worked up anyway?” Eddie starts, readjusting himself on the pillows they’ve situated to support the weakened parts of his body. “He’s just your manager.”

“We’re friends.” Richie mutters.

“No offense, Rich, I know you’ve been through a lot but he’s your _‘friend’_ because you make him money.” Eddie comments.

“No, Steve is actually like family to us.” Maggie informs Eddie. “They’re,” Richie shoots her a look. “very close.” She finishes, giving her son a knowing look. 

Eddie nods in understanding but Maggie notices the way he purses his lips at that bit of information. Went seems to notice too, if the snort he makes next to her is any indication. “Well _if_ he is a _good_ friend,” Eddie huffs out, “You got nothing to nothing to worry about bro.”

“Your fucking frat boy talk is infuriating.” Richie grouches out.

“Oh shut up and sit down and roll my calf out if you want something to do.” Eddie demands, smacking Richie in the stomach with the muscle roller. 

Richie laughs meekly and plops down close to Eddie’s legs and presses the textured roller into Eddie’s leg as he was taught to properly do by one of Eddie’s physical therapists. Eddie _could_ do his thighs by himself, but doing his calf and lower back required a certain level of flexibility he had not yet gained back. 

“Is that okay master Eds?” Richie inquires in an impression of a British butler, glancing up at Eddie.

“Yes, you’re doing fine.” Eddie answers and smiles something seemingly amorous at her son. “Is this enough to settle you until he gets here you asshole?” Despite the fiery words, there is a level of concern in his voice. 

“It’ll work for now, Spaghetti.” Richie chuckles which earns him a (deserved) flick to his forehead. 

It does prove to relieve some of the built up energy in his muscles as they fall into something slightly more blissful whilst watching Gordon Ramsay bellow aggressively at the borderline incompetent contestants on his show. As the episode draws to an end with the elimination coming up, there is a knock on the door. Richie glances up at Eddie as if requesting permission to stop the calf massage. 

“You’re fine, dude.” Eddie chortles.

Richie breathes out a small laugh, drawing himself up and wincing as his lower back gives an audible crack. 

“You should start doing some stretching shit too, you know.” Eddie notes.

“I will, I will.” Richie dismisses. “Steve just use your key!” He shouts, moving around the couch to greet his manager as Went turns the TV off so Gordon Ramsay’s booming voice does not interrupt this reunion. 

“Lazy ass!” Steve calls back but the sound of a key fumbling from behind the door is heard into the living room which melts into the entry way with Richie’s ridiculous McMansion open concept floor plan. 

Steve steps in and immediately darts toward Richie and almost knocks him over by the sheer force of a near-leaping hug that he completely engulfs her son in. Richie has managed to gain just some of his lost strength back, but it’s certainly not enough to support him against such a powerful embrace that has Eddie Kaspbrak narrowing his eyes with an unspeakable expression from his spot on the couch.

“God, it’s good to see you, Rich!” Steve gushes out, stepping back to take Richie’s appearance in. He sighs something between sadness and relief. “You never fucking do that again.” He places his hands on Richie’s five-o-clock shadowed cheeks; touching him to see if he’s actually there the way she had when she first saw Richie in Ohio. Eddie makes an in involuntary sound with an undistinguishable emotion behind it. “You never, _ever_ do that to any of us again… okay?”

“I’m sorry.” Richie murmurs, smiling sheepishly, placing an unsteady hand on Steve’s wrists. 

“Don’t apologize you asshole. I just can’t… I just can’t believe you’re back.” He drapes his hands over Richie’s too knobby shoulders. “I’m so _glad_ you’re back. It’s been hell without you.”

“I am your best client.” He teases.

“My most headache-inducing client— _maybe._ But, I suppose I can keep you around.” Steve titters and their banter only serves to emphasize the similarities between him and Eddie that Richie was internally stressing over prior to his arrival. 

Steve sighs and just pulls Richie into another hug, taking him in with a deep breath. Maggie can see a stray tear on his cheek as he whispers something into Richie’s ear and Richie nods, sniffling quietly and pulling away to rub furiously at his own eyes as Steve turns his attention to everyone else, completely unphased by their little show of emotion. 

“Hi Mags, Hi Went!” He greets, offering them each their own hug. They’ve seen him since Richie went missing but this is the first time where there isn’t a heavy presence weighing in the air around them in ages. “It’s great to see you both.”

“Always a pleasure.” Went replies, his smile bordering upon a smirk. 

“We’re so glad you came, sweetheart.” Maggie says, giving him the gentlest squeeze in their hug.

“And you,” Steve turns to where Eddie is nestled on the couch. “must be… Eddie? Right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie answers awkwardly. “I’d get up but,” he gestures toward the cane next to him.

“Oh, it’s no big deal.” Steve reassures. giving Eddie a firm handshake before deciding _fuck it_ and pulling Eddie into a “bro-hug” as Richie would call it. Steve takes in Eddie’s appearance just briefly but it’s enough to make his brows crease and to glance over at Maggie who is already hiding her knowing expression behind her hand. Steve is definitely not an idiot. He sees himself in the man before him and simply _knows._ “You and Richie, you two met as kids?” He nods toward Richie who stands stiffly across the room, rawing his bottom lip. 

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. “Put up with his ass since kindergarten.” 

“I’ve been taking over that role for quite a while now.” Steve chips and while Eddie laughs there is a flicker of jealousy in his face. “Say, Rich, didn’t you tell me about him that one time?”

“What?” Richie startles, sinking back to reality. 

“Yeah!” Steve bounces on the balls of his feet. “He was babbling about you to me this one time he had the flu.” 

“Oh, really?” Eddie’s brows raise in surprise. 

“Nothing bad. He was just convinced that you were going to come over and help him out or something.” 

Eddie looks over at Richie who has hunched his shoulders up to his ears as a flaming blush darkens his cheeks. He offers a meager shrug. Consciously they did not remember each other, but perhaps in the fever-addled state of mind, Richie could not possibly forget his beloved Eddie Spaghetti

“Doctor K. here was his primary doctor for most of his childhood.” Went offers with a shit-eating grin that Maggie would like to kindly smack off of his face. “Not sure Richie would’ve made it this far without Eds here to help ‘im out.”

“Hey!” Richie whines defensively, seating himself on the opposing end of the couch where Eddie sits. 

“Well thank you for keeping him alive for me.” Steve snorts, settling down between Richie and Eddie. 

“I wanna say my pleasure but he’s just as annoying now as he was then.” Eddie replies. “If not more.”

“So, were the holidays good for you and Eric?” Maggie changes the subject, resituating herself on the loveseat with her husband.

“They were,” he laughs sheepishly, holding his hand up to reveal what is obviously an engagement ring upon his finger. 

“ _What the fuck?”_ Richie demands, grabbing Steve’s hand to inspect the band. 

“Congratulations!” Went booms excitedly.

“Oh wow!” Eddie chirps, eyes wide with a guise of something between envy and shock for the man he’s just met. Some people file for divorce over the holidays while others get engaged. The feeling is justified. 

“When?” Maggie asks, beaming excitedly as she waves Steve over to stretch his hand so she can see the fine piece of jewelry bestowed upon his ring finger. “Oh that’s beautiful.” She observes the platinum ring embedded with a row of diamonds. 

“New Years.” Steve answers.

“Oh, that’s _so_ fucking cheesy, man.” Richie giggles, waggling his brows. “Isn’t it a bit fast? You guys have been dating since what? June?”

“April, asshole.” Steve elbows him not too roughly in the abdomen. He, like anyone with at least one partially functioning eyeball could see that Richie was not strong enough for any roughhousing. “And unlike _some_ people I don’t like taking it ridiculously slow.” There’s no heat in his words, but Richie quickly shrinks on himself. 

“I’m happy for you.” Richie says genuinely. 

“I know.” Steve says and then exhales slowly. “I know we’re all discussing a _bunch_ of other shit today, but I did want to ask you… um… do you… do you wanna be my best man, Rich?”

Richie blinks in surprise, pointing a finger to himself. Steve snorts and nods. “I-I… don’t you have a brother?” 

“Jesus Christ.” Went huffs, looking upward in disbelief. 

Steve purses his lips. “Rich, we dat—” Maggie inhales sharply and Richie’s eyes go visibly wide behind the lenses of the new prescription glasses Eddie had helped him select since his old ones were broken in Derry. Steve can see the uneasiness in Richie and he knows. “We’ve _known_ each other for over a decade. I’m an only child.”

“Oh yeah.” Richie says.

“Well?” Steve’s brows raise expectantly. 

“Oh! Yeah… yeah, of course Steve.” Richie smiles softly and is immediately dragged into yet another bear hug from Steve. Eddie averts his eyes and is suddenly fixated upon the baseboard as opposed to the show of affection next to him. 

“Thanks, Rich.” Steve pats his back and releases a breath. “Well, now that I’m here, you know we have to address some stuff.”

Richie nods slowly. “Yeah like how I put my career down the toilet?”

“You know that’s not true.” Steve argues.

“Well TMZ sa—”

“TMZ is the least reputable news source in existence.” Steve deadpans. “They literally thought you were committing human sacrifice or joining fucking scientology while you were gone.”

“I have always wanted to befriend Tom Cruise.” 

“You’re an idiot.” Steve grumbles. “Your career is fine, okay? Almost everyone has been extremely supportive of you online and I know you won’t believe that but that’s the truth of the matter. I wouldn’t tell you you were going to be okay if you were being blacklisted or some shit.”

“You would have dropped me by now.” 

“Do you really think that low of me, Rich?” Steve inquires sadly. “Don’t say shit like that. You’re my friend.” 

“I know, I know.” Richie sighs, rubbing aggressively at his face. “I’m working on that.”

“So you _are_ in therapy and rehab now, Right?”

Richie nods. “Yeah, for like the millionth time. I wonder if I could get a punch card and get a free frozen yogurt for the next time I relapse.” 

Maggie’s shoulders fall at that. 

“ _That’s_ not funny, Rich.” Went interrupts snappishly. 

“Don’t say that shit, man.” Steve sighs, frowning. 

Richie holds his hands up in mock defense. “I’m a comedian. I was joking.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny, asshole.” Eddie argues. 

“Sorry.” Richie mutters, sinking back against the cushions. “But yeah, I’m in an outpatient program and I’m in therapy. Just make me the poster child for what you too can become if you enlist in a career in Hollywood!” 

“That’s good,” Steve continues, electing to disregard Richie’s little Hollywood advert. “I won’t announce the details but maybe we can release something online about how you are getting some mental health help which can help serve to eradicate any stigma around therapy and getting professional help which will look really good for you.”

“We’re fighting stigma… for his image?” Eddie interjects. “That’s kinda shallow.”

“It’s Hollywood, Eds.” Richie states. “It _is_ shallow.” 

“Shouldn’t it just be about you caring about yourself and the fact that you’re getting healthy and getting better?” Eddie is absolutely befuddled and Maggie can remember when they had first stepped their toes into this part of Richie’s fame and withheld the same perplexed feelings.

“It should be, yes.” Steve explains. “But, again this is Hollywood. It’s not.”

“Fucking hell.” Eddie mumbles to himself. 

“Anyway, we can do that if you’re comfortable with that.”

Richie visibly considers this. “I’d be okay with that. I don’t want all the intense details announced but I guess if me getting help explains some things for people and also might,” he shakes his head as he files through his own thoughts, “help motivate or inspire...I guess... someone else get the help they might be too scared to get.”

“So he _does_ have a heart.” Went jests.

Richie maturely sticks his tongue out and returns his focus back to Steve. 

“That’ll work well.” Steve encourages, texting something to what Maggie presumes to be his publicist. “Alright, additionally, we have to discuss how we’re going to keep your name on the map even though you’re obviously taking a break from _most_ stuff.”

Richie nods in understanding. 

“So I think I may have some jobs lined up and a few podcast intervi—”

“Wow, wow, wow!” Eddie cuts in, leaning as forward as he can without straining his abdomen. “You’re really setting up _jobs_ for him? He’s in rehab, man. _That_ should be his focus right now.”

Steve looks taken aback and the tension that brews between the two men is absolutely suffocating. “Uh, pardon me Eddie, but Richie _still_ has a career that he has to pay mind to and stay active in if he doesn’t want everything he’s worked so hard for to go down the shitter.”

“Oh you mean his career where you let him have others write his material for him?”

“That’s only been recently and that tour isn’t even happening now because I cancelled it for his mental health.” 

“No you cancelled it because he was missing.”

“I could technically force him to do it _right now_ if I wanted. But I’m not because I do actually happen to care about him unlike his supposed friend who abandoned him for twenty-something years.”

Richie nervously glances at Maggie and Went, face draining of all color as the two become increasingly more heated. “I-It’s not his fault.” Richie attempts feebly. 

“Steve there’s more to it than that.” Maggie starts to say.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eddie growls. 

“Neither do you.” Steve snaps back. “Sure you’ve been his friend since diapers or whatever but I’ve actually been the one looking out for him for the last ten years since I met him. I have his best interest at heart, here.”

“So do I!” Eddie insists. 

“Alright, we’re in agreement here.” Steve declares. “I’m not going to force Richie to do anything he’s not comfortable with but I know Richie values his career… right?” 

“Yeah.” Richie answers timidly. 

Steve continues, “And I want to help keep him on the map and in the eyes of the public without directly forcing him out there right now.” Eddie silently absorbs this. “I agree. Richie’s focus should be on his recovery but in this career field, people are so quick to dismiss you and forget you and that would probably not be good for Richie’s state of mind. Would you not agree to that, Eds?”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie hisses before sighing and allowing the tightness in his body that definitely could not be agreeing with his injury to release slowly. “Yeah. I guess. I just don’t think he should be pulled in so many directions right now.”

“He’s not going to be and if you would have let me finish we could have let _Richie_ decide what he was comfortable doing.” 

Eddie scowls at that but remains quiet. 

Steve turns back to Richie. “We have some voice work for some commercials and some animated features. You don’t have to go to the studio. I’ve talked to the directors and they’d be willing to have you do everything from home for now but almost all of them,” he pulls out his phone again and types away, the email _swish_ sound audible from his phone, “asked for you specifically and will accommodate you however you would like.

Richie pulls out his phone, a new one he purchased for himself after having disconnected and completely smashing his previous one back in August. He scrolls for a second, nodding when he sees the files in his inbox. He scans the names of the people on the job and looks back at Steve. “I could do this stuff, yeah.” 

“Okay, awesome.” Steve claps his hands together. “Next, we do have some podcasters asking if you’re interested in a few interviews.”

“I think I wanna pass on that for now.” Richie admits. “I can release a statement on Twitter or Instagram but I really don’t want to talk one on one with someone where they could ask whatever they want and I know you probably would tell them what _not_ to discuss… but I just… no.” He shakes his head. 

“That’s alright.” Steve tells him. “Lastly, we have the proposal for your show.”

“ _Your_ show?” Eddie interjects curiously. 

Steve looks at him and nods. “Yeah, Richie and his friend Alec were about to start writing for this idea Richie had and Rich here is writing, directing, and starring for the show.”

Eddie looks impressed. “Damn, Rich.”

Richie looks a tad self-conscious but smiles regardless. “He still wants to do that with me?”

“Oh, yeah! He loves your ideas and I think if you guys get a script done while you’re doing a lighter workload, you guys could probably present the show idea to HBO by March.”

“I did start writing more stuff for it while I was… er, away.” Richie laughs mirthlessly. “I had an odd sense of inspiration while in a shithole motel in Cleveland.”

“That’s great.” Steve tells him. “You should definitely Facetime Alec and continue working on this. I think it’ll be really good for you, and if you guys continue the way you were I really think HBO will accept the show, and you can finish casting by April even though I already know _who_ you planned on casting, and potentially start filming by late summer.”

“You really think so?

Steve smiles genuinely. “I really do.” He snorts a bit. “But only if you get back in shape. The guy you’re playing is a former marine and no marine is _this_ twiggy.” He turns to Eddie. “I think I can put— what did Went call you— _Doctor K_ in charge of that.”

“I think I can handle that.” Eddie decides, his tone not nearly as harsh as it had been just moments before. 

With Richie having a taste for men that genuinely give a fuck about him, Maggie believes Richie will be almost completely unable to let himself fall anywhere remotely out of sorts for with both Eddie and Steve around, he is obviously in the best hands possible. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was actually supposed to be MORE in this chapter and I know literally NOTHING happened even by filler-criteria, but it was already over 7k long and I decided you know what, IT'S DONE. We got some Steve and Eddie interaction and a Barry reference/discussion so that's all you get from my ass. 
> 
> The entire chapter was mentally created within like 20 minutes of me annoying my friend with my insignificant bullshit pertaining to this trick ass story so the development is hardly there and the impulsivity of everything in this one is clear but also, I just needed to coin something up because in between previous chapter and the next few major events, I didnt actually plan on anything because I never planned on bringing Eddie back or having Richie have a breakdown of that scale so everything that initially gonna occur has been scrapped and we are somewhat on a new path compared to what I initially established in January. So... I hope this was okay? 
> 
> Regardless, it's done and my goal is to FINISH this. I've never once in my life finished a multi-chapter story ever!! I really want to accomplish that!! Look out for some big ass time skips upon the horizon and then some MAJOR events... and then... THE END my dudes. 
> 
> tell me about what the fuck ya doin this quarantined fall or tell me how much you hate, like, etc. this story or about your fuckin' day. i crave interaction <3 
> 
> did ya'll get iOS 14? Did you go all out on your home page like I did? It feels like a modernized version of the classic 2013 jailbreaking of your phone to get the funky app icons we all loved n tumblr but I don't care in the slightest. It was hard, however, to pick which facet of my personality to integrate into the phone lmao. I almost did an It theme but decided not to (with the exception of a widget and 2 icons that feature my favorite losers) but if you did... pLEASE SEND IT TO ME BECAUSE MAYBE ILL CHANGE IT???
> 
> eddie just screamed at an anti-masker on instagram. richie is trying to make pumpkin bread. he keeps failing. tragic.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to the handful of people that've stuck around this long even tho we done with ch. 1 and 2 content and now this is just ALLLLL my brain (which makes this 10x harder): you are great and i hope your life feels as good as munching on circle k ice. i've made some really cool friends from writing this fuckery and i love all of them especially my draco malfoy (u know you u r) <3 
> 
> so i blinked and now it's october. Also this fic is basically a representation of a child i will never have bc it's almost 9 months old and has caused me great stress and anguish but also some fun moments in the last 9 months. i hope the "delivery" has been okay. ahah. -finger guns-
> 
> I struggled a great deal writing this chapter. I've honestly just been in a major brain fog lately and my self worth in regards to my writing is always in the fuckin sewers. -finger guns- But I hope this ends up being okay!!!
> 
> It actually was a lot longer... but I ended up splitting this chapter (and next) in half (which is nice for me to so I can hold onto 43 to post in a more reasonable time frame than I have been with posting ahah) so that's why this one and next are so short especially in comparison to what I've been doing. Eek. I'm 1000% a quantity over quality person because I may not make GOOD words but my ass makes a LOT of words. So it's weird to post a chapter that's not v long for once.
> 
> The Great Longing by Lost Under Heaven, A Little While By Yellow Days, and In Blue By Declan Mckenna helped this chapter to get the vibe I think I established so 11/10 recommend cycling between those three or just listening to those three in general. 
> 
> TW: Discussions of recovery, mentions of past suicide attempts, internalized homophobia and general gay panic, and coming out discussions

Maggie knew Richie and Eddie felt each other with an intensity that few could fathom. 

**April 2017**

Regardless of their rocky first impressions of one another, Eddie and Steve ended up getting along surprisingly well. It probably helped that Eddie was still completely oblivious to the fact that Steve was essentially a clone of him (although Steve was definitely the wiser and had been the moment he laid eyes upon Eddie Kaspbrak and had made several private remarks and inquires to both Maggie and Went) and of course because they did have a shared interest: Richie and whatever made Richie happy and healthy. The two, given how they were the equivalent to that of two magnets with same poles, tended to butt heads relentlessly and had a propensity to get rather snappy with one another. 

It was never anything too heated and despite their bickering, the two had formulated a peculiarly close knit relationship. They would have easy-going discussions about their abundance of shared hobbies (some of which Eddie could not actively partake in this stage of his recovery), thrived upon teasing Richie incessantly and bullying him into taking care of himself, and most recently, started sharing a Google calendar with Richie’s upcoming appointments and now Eddie’s as Steve had, behind closed doors, set Eddie up with an even better team of physical therapists that were actually known for working and training with some of the basketball players that played for the LA Lakers. 

Eddie had been absolutely gobsmacked when Steve informed him of such changes that he’d managed to make after meandering through some agents he knew that worked with athletes and was able to pull some strings for Eddie that way. Maggie could only imagine the hoops he had to jump through in order to pull that together for Eddie even if Steve tried to brush it off as something as easy as putting Italian carry-out on a dinner table and claiming it to be a home cooked meal (something Went had been guilty of on their 2nd wedding anniversary and did not admit to until their 20th). 

Eddie’s initial team of physical therapists and health care professionals had been truly great, but they were obviously not at the same level (and paygrade) as the ones Steve had set him up with. The abilities of his new team spoke for themselves in the amount of progress he’d made at an astonishing rate since he started working with them. He had graduated from regular use of the cane and now only had to use it whenever he had a flare-up which only ever happened when Malibu had the odd rain spell or if he’d over exerted himself the day prior. 

Maggie knew that it was just a matter of time for Eddie to abandon the stick in a hall closet and allow it to collect dust as a former, unfortunate memory. Soon, he would be walking around town without the slightest twinge of pain. Not long after that, he would be slipping on the Asics they’d gotten him and open his legs with a stride seemingly too powerful for someone his (self-reportedly average) size and run with the wind once more. 

With this suddenly rapid pacing in physical recovery, Eddie had just recently deemed himself ready to begin psychotherapy with one of the various specialists Maggie and Went had looked into when he’d begun settling into Richie’s guest room in what was appearing to be a more permanent adjustment as the weeks passed by— and they were all (especially Richie) more than okay with that. Obviously it was going to take some time for Eddie to feel more at ease with the surplus of trauma he’d endured in his forty years, but this was an incredible milestone and Maggie was not one to conceal just how proud she was of him. 

Richie has also demonstrated ample amounts of progress in these last few months. He’d been entirely sober since his stint in Cleveland and had expressed minimal desire to indulge his habits again. There had been moments, where his thoughts went haywire and Maggie could see it in the way he rolled his neck with visible tension and the jittery vibrations of his fingers, that the cravings remained in his subconscious. Even so, her son managed to suppress the urges and maintained his sobriety. 

He was finally starting to look healthy and more like his regular self again. He was still a bit too thin and had a peaked look to him but was attempting to mend that with occasional gym sessions that were to increase in frequency with the news that his and Alec’s show has been approved by HBO. They had just finished casting about a week ago (and said cast was precisely what Richie had had in mind from the start) and they were scheduled to begin filming late August, early September. Until then, they would primarily be engaged in some table reads and reconstructing any plotlines they may not have fully finalized thus far. It was crystal clear that Richie had poured his entire heart and soul into this show and he had actually worked up the courage to call up Bill to discuss what Bill’s writing process was like whenever he got stuck. 

Richie had made sure to let Bill know he wanted _zero_ help from him in regards to the ending— which had made Bill laugh seeing as it was clear that even with Richie’s hesitance to _really_ be himself and fully immerse himself in Loser group chats or video calls sessions, that the teasing, funny Richie still remained and was slowly starting to reemerge in his entirety like a delicate flower reblooming after an unexpected frost had nearly thwarted it’s growth in an early spring. 

Bill had been somewhat surprised in their initial call pertaining to the script writing to learn that Richie was writing his own material and not just material for comedy tours but for an actual TV show. He gave his praises for this step in his career and also gave him some solid advice and guidance for what he’d found to be helpful in getting the creative gears in his own brain to start whirring whenever he found himself unmotivated or unsure of what felt _right_ for a storyline. It also helped tremendously that Bill had obviously crafted most of his books with the obvious intent to be put on screen, as many of them already were, and he knew what might help Richie figure out what to avoid or aim for in his writing as the transference from script to screen could be troublesome sometimes. 

The stunned state that Bill had been in upon learning about Richie’s show was not confounding in the slightest. Richie had been keeping the entire show under wraps and had only really mentioned it in passing with Maggie, Went, and Eddie. He didn’t want to acquire any hype from anyone in the Losers club, all of which he knew would shower him with endless support and encouragement— something that Richie did not necessarily want at the moment. He was fearful that the entire show was going to flop so in minimizing the attention, and not even really mentioning it to his friends, the disappointment and subsequent pity could, in his ridiculously insecure mind, be avoided.

Maggie only really knew the basic gist of the show but even with the minimally detailed pitch he’d given her when he first was crafting the basic fundamentals of the show, she was instantly intrigued. She could tell just by the initial synopsis that it was remarkably unique in comparison to what type of shows were currently being produced and had an artistic flare woven throughout, that almost no one would possibly expect from the “goofy funny man” that her son was typically viewed and brushed off as by most of the entertainment industry. 

While Richie was already preparing himself for the sore disappointment of his passion project failing before it even began, Maggie, Went, Eddie, and quite literally everyone else who he’d discussed the show in brevity with, was confident that this show could be Richie’s next “big thing” and do more for him than he could anticipate or even think possible for him. Sure, Maggie and Went could be considered biased in that they had been the ones to insist that the sloppy scribbles Richie would make them as a tot _“belonged in a museum!”_ and they would proudly display them upon the fridge for all to see; but she knew the amount of work going into this series and knew that with Richie and Alec’s creative minds behind the scenes, and of course with the phenomenal casting, only good things could come from _Barry_. 

It was obvious that Richie’s career was already edging back to what it had been prior to his disappearance and according to Steve, it looked like Richie was spiraling upward faster and accumulating more support than he ever had since Steve had first started working with him. Richie continued to receive endless support on all platforms and the more negative speculations that her son had hyper-fixated on were finally starting to abate. Sure, Richie still managed to stumble upon some nastier comments and still held them too close to heart— but overall, they’d eased up and he was actually starting to register that people did genuinely like him and his work _did_ mean something to a lot of people. Maggie could only hope that such realizations would evolve into confidence with his work and himself. 

Richie had finished most of the voice work he had been scheduled to do for some animated films and had been writing some bits for a potential tour in 2018. Richie knew a tour would be inevitable as many fans were demanding that he go on one (of course once he felt ready to so as they remained understanding of the extent of the situation he’d disclosed on social media), especially after many of them had been anticipating one in 2016 and had purchased their tickets only to be told that it was no longer set to happen and had been refunded but still left in disappointment. 

Little did any of them know, it was probably for the best that the tour had never happened beyond the few minutes of stammered panic (which Steve and a team of publicists managed to scour from the internet) that he delivered last August as the show that was composed of bigoted dudebro humor would have probably wrecked Richie’s career more than him disappearing for another couple of months ever could. He was, with Eddie’s insistence, working on writing his own material for the show and had bravely fired his previous writing team and had started working with some more pleasant, more PC individuals to help him set up this future tour. 

Maggie was nervous that Richie taking on so many tasks and jobs so quickly might be too much for him but she also understood—thanks to Steve— the basic dynamics of Hollywood careers and the importance of maintaining work of some form, and of course she knew that Richie was not one to take a full fledged break even in the midst of a major recovery or to completely step out of the spotlight. Such actions would most likely leave him feeling more depressed than he had… and still did, unfortunately. 

Richie was doing infinitely better than he had been—a total 180 from the timid, scrawny, despondent man she’d found in the hospital in Cleveland. However, there were still indicators that he had ways to go. He had days where his normally dazzling, mischief-filled blue eyes were dull, stormy, and devoid of life. His shoulders, slumped forward, mouth straining to quirk up into even a pathetic half-smile. Wilted with defeat and overcome with guilt that convinced him that he was undeserving of a good life. 

It was going to take time for Richie to stop having those days. He would need a lot more time to get back to who he was; especially given that Richie had not really been his entire, unequivocal self since he left Derry at eighteen. He needed to stop feigning happiness, to recognize his worth, and to not hold an undue amount of hatred for specific qualities that were simply a part of him and had no negative impact on who he was as a person—Richie had _plenty_ of those and the ones he hated himself for were definitely not on that list. 

He would get there in time— him and Eddie both. Slowly, they were each getting better and beginning to resemble their younger selves with teasing words, lingering touches, and gazing eyes that the other did not notice but she and Went certainly did. But that was all they could do right now. _Notice._ They couldn’t go beyond that by knocking sense into the pair especially with Eddie stressing over the fact that he had to go back to New York City for a week to discuss some logistical stuff with Myra and each of their respective lawyers.

Eddie probably should _not_ be travelling and whatever Myra wanted to discuss face-to-face could probably be done over a video call, but she was being particularly stubborn and rather than drive her farther up the wall and sour her mood more than it already was, Eddie elected to appease her by indulging her wishes and would simply make the journey back to the east coast. It was merely petty on Myra’s part to insist Eddie be there as opposed to staying there and continuing to _“mooch off that foul mouthed comedian”_ as Maggie had heard her say during one of Eddie’s phone calls to his soon to be ex-wife. However, it could be a lot worse. They all knew Myra was not being as awful as she _could_ be for the divorce— and Maggie had only tasted a small spoonful of this bitter woman but she knew well enough that Myra possessed the capacity to be an absolute tyrant if she put her pitiful excuse of a heart to the job. 

Eddie would only be gone a week to discuss some more trivial things and to determine the detailed split of their assets. His flight was scheduled to leave tomorrow morning and in true Dr. K fashion, he was immensely stressed. From the get go, he had been mildly paranoid upon the idea of returning, even for seven days to his former home— as anyone could expect. Although Maggie and Went certainly could not authentically empathize with his situation, anyone with even the most one dimensional human relationships could understand that it had to be difficult to meet up with someone that you were in the process of divorcing. 

To make matters worse, he was putting an insubordinate amount of pressure on himself as he allowed his anxiety to twist his perception of the situation into a way of suggesting that he was overstaying his welcome in Malibu and that he needed to immediately figure out his living situation and stop living in Richie’s guest rooms and find a way to get back to work since he had finally sent in a notice of leaving his NYC job as a (incredibly dull) risk analyst which probably did absolutely nothing to alleviate his near chronic state of paranoia as his job description was quite literally “find the worst case scenario in all scenarios and ruminate over it for hours” or at least that’s how Maggie perceived it. 

When Eddie brought this up over the carry-out dinner from a local Mediterranean place that Richie had brought home after his first _in-person_ table read, he narrowed his eyes at his friend and looked at him as if he was the dumbest person in the world— and in that moment, Eddie _was_ being the dumbest person in the world.

“Are you stupid?” Richie said, tearing his pita bread in half for dramatic emphasis. 

Eddie stares at him for a second, taken aback. “What?”

“You’re always welcome here.” Went chirped.

“Yeah, this is _my_ house and I say you can stay as long as you want.” Richie tells him. “There’s no rush for you to leave.”

“Okay,” Eddie says slowly, “I get that, but I shouldn’t be living off of you _this_ long and I should be trying to get a job again so maybe I can stay here and try to find a job and get an apa—”

“That’s dumb.” Richie interrupts. “You’re still getting better Eddie and I don’t think your job could help you afford an apartment on your own.” 

“As much as I hate to admit it, Richie _is_ right.” Maggie tells Eddie in a genuine voice. 

Eddie sighs. “I understand that, but I _do_ need a job eventually. I can’t just be unemployed my entire life.”

“Do you really want to go back to that _boring_ job?” Richie challenges, raising his brows to his hairline. 

Eddie shoots him a glare. “Not all of us are Hollywood big shots, asshole.” He scratches at his brow bone, slumping into his chair. “It’s what I _can_ do, okay?”

“You can do more than that.” Went says, the light of an idea cast upon his features. “You can go back to school.”

Eddie’s brows furrow at that. “What?”

“You wanted to go to medical school when you were a kid… aren’t you still interested in that?”

Maggie blinks in surprise at that. She had never even considered that for Eddie and the short-lived glimmer of hope that flashes in Eddie’s eyes is evidence enough that he is more than intrigued in pursuing such a career.

“I mean kind of?” Doubt takes over and has him dropping his shoulders and instantly trying to shoot down the suggestion, pretending it didn’t interest him to minimize the potential hurt and disappointment he feels at settling for a job that would have never interested the Eddie she always knew. “I mean it’s _way_ too late for that and what I have is easy and it makes money just fine.” Eddie scoffs. 

“It’s never too late.” Went states confidently, reaching for some more arancini. “I think the medical field is greatly deprived without having Dr. K around to run things.” 

Eddie smiles meekly, skin going slightly taut around the faint pink scar on his cheek. “I just… I don’t think I want to go through so many years of residency and education again to become a doctor in my mid-fifties. It's just… too much for me right now.”

“No one said you had to become a _doctor_.” Went implored in kind. Eddie cocks his head in curiosity at that— a quirky habit he’d picked up from Richie. “There’s so many other jobs in the field that I think you would excel at, Eds and if it’s time you’re worried about, you can go into a two year nursing program and do something like that.” Went meets his eyes and with full sincerity, says, “You have too much heart and too many brains to settle for a job you don’t like.”

“Eddie has a heart?” Richie chimes in, a playful smirk toying at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie narrows his eyes and without hesitation, slaps him with a piece of pita bread. “Fuck off.” His voice betrays the anger he’s expressing upon his scrunched face as he cannot help the small chuckle that creeps up his throat. Richie snickers next to him, earning him yet another smack with the bread. 

“Enough.” Maggie reprimands halfheartedly. Richie deserved it. She knows that. “Went is right Eddie. I think you could really do a lot if you consider going back to school.”

Eddie processes this, lips pursing as he aggressively stabs at his food with a fork. “I think I’d enjoy being a nurse— a pediatric nurse.” He rolls his shoulders back, sitting up straighter. “I could relate to them having been in the hospital so much as a kid.” He laughs mirthlessly. “But I think I might… I could maybe make their experience easier than mine ever was.”

“You would be amazing at that, Eds.” Maggie heartens, resting her chin upon her clasped hands. Her elbows are on the table— manners be damned. He really would be amazing at that. 

Eddie has never once in his life enforced the corrupt beliefs his mother had compromised his life with, upon others. He is rarely one to project, even in times when he is greatly overwhelmed by his own anxieties. He would really make an excellent nurse, especially for children; he would work to alleviate their concerns pertaining to needles, medical procedures ranging from an uncomfortable strep test to a major surgery, or even just help in relieving the general stress that raises the blood pressure of _anyone_ at a basic wellness check. Eddie would be the kind face they needed in that moment of disquietude. He was understanding, empathetic, and while he had a spitfire attitude, he still had a heart of gold and the patience of a saint— he was friends with her natural disaster of a son for Christ’s sake and without him around in their teens, Richie would have certainly found a way to impale himself on a wrought iron fence or get himself killed by eating peanut butter on a dare. 

Eddie was intelligent and would not stop if he didn’t know an answer immediately and would work hard to understand the problems of any patient he encountered. He was determined and fierce in a way that would bring him success in this type of career and would ensure the most high quality of assistance to all children lucky enough to have Nurse Eds at their service. 

“If you’re a pediatric nurse, does that mean the sexy nurse costume isn’t appropriate?” Richie inquires, not even attempting to masquerade his loWbrow comments with a look of insincere wonder. Eddie looks at Maggie. She nods. He again hits her son with the pita bread, this time knocking his glasses down the bridge of his nose and leaving him howling with laughter. 

“That’s _never_ appropriate. It’s just a way to sexualize a profession you bigoted jerk off.”

“Hey my writers were bigoted. Not me.” Richie defends with a crooked grin, then claps a gentle hand on Eddie's shoulder, mindful of his still healing body. “I think you’d do real great at being a Nurse, Spaghetti. I really do.”

“This pita is either super crumbly or I managed to get your dandruff all over it.” Eddie grunts out, face softening at Richie’s comment in spite of his fighting words. Richie squeezes his shoulder and Eddie meets his gaze. “Thanks, Rich.” 

“Anything for ya, SpaghEdward.” He beams. “We could probably get you enrolled to do online classes for the fall if you want. I’ll start researching stuff while you’re with the missus.”

“I’d really appreciate that.” His face is soft at her son’s offering. “I’ll probably need to start researching some loans and grants too.” 

“I wonder if there’s a scholarship for getting attacked by a shape-shifting clown.” Went wonders aloud. 

Maggie elbows him roughly at that to which elicits a chuckle from her incredibly mature husband. It never fails that Maggie can starkly see Went’s contribution in Richie’s personality each time they are seated at the dinner table. She never stood a chance with those two goofballs in her life. Maggie is eternally grateful and is lucky to have a semblance of maturity and sanity with Eddie around. 

“He won’t need that anyway.” Richie clucks around his own sniggering. “I can cover it.” 

“No, you’ve already done too much in covering my expenses, you jackass.” Eddie immediately insists, waving a fork at Richie. 

“I’m rich.” Richie says with his mouth full. _Ever the master of table etiquette_ Maggie thinks to herself. 

“Hi Rich, I’m dad.” Went pipes in. 

“Honestly Eds, Richie has way more money than he knows what to do with and you’ve helped him tremendously with this bout of recovery and there is _no_ price on that.” Maggie reassures with a kind smile.

Eddie worries at the bottom of his lip, averting his eyes from the Toziers and focusing on what is left upon his plate. “I mean… I guess. I _do_ want to cover some of it on my own. I’m not completely broke like you seem to think I am. I actually happen to be rather responsible with my money and I have a fairly substantial amount stowed away in savings—” A realization visibly crosses his face and eradicates the previous confidence in his words, “that I share… with Myra.” A puff of air and a feeble attempt to ground himself with unsteady breathing. “I can only hope she will be civil when I’m there tomorrow and I can have the amount that is rightfully mine which is more than half of what is in there.” 

“Why don’t I come with you?” Richie suggests suddenly. “I could help you get some of your stuff to mail back, maybe help you negotiate with Myra with the regular Toizer charm, and just be there for you I guess.”

Eddie stares at him, an unreadable look upon his face. His lips begin to twist into a smile but then a flush crosses his face. He’s embarrassed and filled with shame. He does not want her son around his ex and to witness the disappointing life he crafted for himself once he left Derry for the first time and managed to forget his own bravery. He doesn’t want Richie to think he’s a coward even though Maggie knows that Richie has never seen Eddie in a negative light. 

“No, I don’t think you should Richie.” Eddie shakes his head. “This is something I should do alone.”

“I don’t think that would be for the best though.” Richie counters. “You shouldn’t be travelling alone really an—”

“I’m not a child, Richie.” Eddie grunts. He doesn’t want to feel controlled or like he needs protecting because he doesn’t. It’s not Richie’s intention to come off as some overbearing, tyrannical protector. He simply wants to be his supporter; his friend. 

“Richie, maybe Eddie is right.” Maggie attempts to mediate. “This is a really exhausting experience and you being there might just cause some unnecessary drama.”

Richie shakes his head—stubborn as a mule, he’s always been. “I don’t think you’re a child, Eds. I just want to be there for you and to help you out the way you’ve been helping me.” His heart is in the right place. It really is. “I can book my ticket now actually.” He whips his phone out from his back pocket. 

“Richie, no!” Eddie snaps, swatting the device out of Richie’s hand with a loud _clang_ as it rattles the silverware on the table.

“Rich, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Went states slowly, clearly stunned by Eddie’s aggressive motion. “You need to respect Eddie’s wishes, okay?”

Richie sighs. “I get it but I really think you need someone there to help you.” He gets more insistent. “This is a lot for you and I know she’s basically your mother’s clone and I don’t want you to deal with that by yourself so I really want to be there for you.” 

The inevitable Sonia-related comment—even if it was supposed to be good natured and to serve as a reason why Richie wanted to simply _help_ Eddie, it does nothing except push Eddie to his limit.

“Okay, well maybe I don’t want a drug addict in the city when I can’t supervise his ass the whole time to make sure he doesn’t fall off the wagon _again_.” Eddie hisses and the heat in his voice, while flaming and designed to deter Richie is all a facade. He doesn’t mean it. He’s scared but still, those words, even to Maggie are like a jab in the heart and she can only wonder what kind of hurt is going through her son’s mind. 

Based on the look that falls upon his face, she can give a rough estimate that it is of exponential levels. 

Richie doesn’t say anything. He pushes himself up from the table and turns to walk away. 

_Let him walk away,_ Maggie thinks. This will get ugly. But this is Eddie and Richie. There is no easy way out. There is no accepting defeat or falling silent. There is only full heart and passion in everything they do— even with the more negative emotions they sometimes manage to elicit from one another. They’ve always felt _everything_ together and of an intensity unfathomable by most. They have to go above and beyond with everything they do and not only with their love and affection they most clearly still share for one another but with their anger, hurt and frustration as well. She cannot stop it. They are powerful forces— two supernovas blasting near each other, beautiful and violent; bursting with unmatched potential to love and hurt one another. 

“Richie, wait!” Eddie stands up, leaning his body against the table, not wanting to aggravate his healing body for the sake of a fight. 

“Eds, maybe let him cool off.” Went urges but his words fall on deaf, determined-to-make-things-right-with-his-soulmate ears. Maggie squeezes Went’s arm.

“I didn’t mean it.” Eddie pleads. 

Richie turns around. “You didn’t say former.” He murmurs.

“What?” Eddie shakes his head, confused.

“You didn’t say former.” Richie’s jaw is set. “You just called me a drug addict like I _still_ am one.”

Eddie shakes his head, mouth open and closing like a dying fish.

“It’s really fucking funny coming from you considering _you’re_ the fucking pill head.” Richie seethes. 

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, you act like I’m this poor, sick, pathetic junkie that needs help when it’s always been _you_ popping pills like a fucking addict.”

“They’re prescription you fucking asshole.” Eddie growls.

“Oh just like they were in middle school?” Richie quirks a brow. “Or are they still a bunch of fucking sugar pills that you take because mommy said to?”

“Richie, stop it.” Maggie snaps. “ _Both_ of you.”

“They’re not fucking sugar pills, asshole. They’re my actual medication I _need_ to take.”

“Oh, all twenty of those fucking bottles you _need_?” Richie challenges.

“Why are you going through my fucking shit?” Eddie utters a sporadic laugh and points an accusatory finger at him, “Lemme guess! You were looking for my fucking pain pills!”

“ _Both of you, stop!”_ Went yells, slamming his hands on the table but again, to no avail.

“Oh there you go, projecting onto me again.” Richie scoffs, shaking his head. “You need to stop pretending this shit is fucking normal and get some fucking help getting off all those pills you don’t _fucking_ need and admit that you need fucking help about all that shit.” He rubs the side of his face and the anger melts into something more somber. “You need to stop running from your problems.”

“Oh you mean like you did when you _abandoned_ all of us in Derry?” Eddie roars back. He doesn’t mean it. It’s no coincidence that he used that particular phrasing. He wants the words to twist like a knife and to hurt Richie just so he can protect himself. 

He’s never thought that Richie abandoned him and she has heard countless conversations between the two of Richie confessing his relentless guilt and Eddie reassuring him that he did not ‘abandon’ them and that Richie was daft for thinking so. These words, while not truthful, are simply there to lash out at Richie— to derail him from addressing the glaring amount of unsolved issues Eddie hasn’t even admitted to having, to ensure that Richie does not come to the city with him to witness the life of shame Eddie has existed in for twenty years. 

“Fuck you.” Richie grits out, eyes wide and hurt behind his glasses. He storms out.

Eddie doesn’t even try to stop him, shoulders shaking with fury. The fire has left Eddie, leaving behind a smoldering pile of hurt and regret. No one should go to bed angry, especially not with someone they love, but there is no fight or energy left to endure the intense array of emotions that arise anytime Richie and Eddie are within each other’s vicinity. It’s too much right now.

“Sorry.” He manages to grumble out before leaving Maggie and Went in the kitchen, both in a state of speechlessness, shock, and hurt.

“Do we have to do the dishes?” Went asks quietly.

xXx

Went drove Eddie to the airport the following morning and Richie does not even bother to say goodbye because instead, he somehow managed to conveniently have a last-minute meeting with Alec to discuss some final changes for the last episode in the season (even though Richie keeps telling them to stop referring to these eight episodes as the ‘first season’ because that would imply there is going to be more than one and he is not certain that that will get to happen). He wants to see Eddie, Maggie knows that. Richie _never_ doesn’t want to see Eddie but facing Eddie, after the gut wrenching things they said to each other? Out of the question. The tension that remains in the mansion is oppressive, thick, and Maggie is convinced that their hostile energy is the culprit behind the gloomy weather that has surprised the SoCal residents with rain and grey skies. 

By the time Richie returns home from the meeting, hair wet and limp upon his forehead for he never remembers an umbrella, Eddie has already texted that he is safe and secure in a hotel not far from his and Myra’s home (which she will be seizing the deed to in the divorce as he is no longer planning to stick around on the east coast). 

“How was your very important, impossible-to-miss meeting?” Maggie inquires dryly from her spot on the couch.

Richie drags his hands through his hair, attempting to get some of the moisture out, cringing slightly the accusatory tone. “It was fine.” He slips his shoes off and leaves them outside, something Eddie has instilled in him. “Uh, where’s dad?” 

“Heart appointment.” She answers. He already knew that. He wants to change the subject. “Eddie made it back to New York safely.”

“That’s good.” He says diffidently, sinking down into the loveseat and reaching for the remote to evade any further conversation. 

“Have you talked to him?”

“No.” Richie huffs. “I doubt he wants to talk to me.” His voice wavers. 

“That was a nasty fight last night.” She states, giving him a look. He can’t escape this. He _needs_ to talk to Eddie. He should reach out. Eddie reached out to him back in December by travelling cross country the minute he found out Richie was alive and well and the least her son can do right now is offer an olive branch in the form of a phone call. 

“It wasn’t just me.” He snaps defensively. 

“I never even said that, Richie. I think Eddie said some nasty things too.” Maggie sighs. “But I think you should call him. He’s going through a lot right now and you both shouldn’t stay angry at each other like this— especially not now.”

“He won’t want to talk to me and I don’t want to talk to him.” Richie hisses. “You heard what he said to me… I don’t want to talk to him.”

“He was hurting, you know that.” She sighs. “I hate what he said to you too, Richie. I think it discredited your progress and was completely uncalled for. But,” Richie exhales dramatically, knowing she is playing devil’s advocate, “what you said was completely uncalled for and disgusting as well. You know that.”

He does. His angry expression levels into something of shame. The fight in his body melts away. “I said some really messed up shit to him.” He rubs at his face. “He’s not going to want to come back here again, is he?”

“What?” She wasn’t expecting that. 

“Eddie—he’s gonna move out and not come back.” His jaw quivers. 

“Rich, no.” She scoots toward him. 

“I _did_ abandon him and clearly he thinks that.” He sobs dryly.

“Richie, he was mad and that’s why he said that. You were both saying things you knew you’d both regret because you wanted to hurt each other.” She reasons or at least attempts to. He’s too far into this dark place to acknowledge it. She hates this side of him so much. It’s dark and and self deprecating; relentless in its effort to eviscerate the progress he’s made with coming to terms with himself and trying to accept who he is and what he’s been through and done.

“Maybe he knows,” He murmurs into his fist, “and he’s disgusted by me and that’s why he wanted to get out of here without me so he can leave without me trying to hold him back because he knows I’m sick and I l-love him like a fucking moron.” 

“Richie, you aren’t sick.” She touches him and he tries to shake her off. They’ve been down this road too many times and she’s not letting him escape her comfort so she hops onto the loveseat. “You’re supposed to talk about this stuff and these thoughts with your therapist… you know that.” 

“I do but it just… it doesn’t go away because I can’t let these feelings go and it’s just so fucking pathetic. He could never love someone like me.”

“He _does_ love you, Richie.” She knows he does; the same exact way Richie loves Eddie but Eddie is not in a place where he can allow himself to love Richie the way Richie wants. He might not be for a while and she can’t force anything to happen. It’s not her place but she can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt to see two men, so obviously meant for one another, to hurt and be detached from one another and not proclaiming their love in a way they truly deserve. 

“Not like I do.” he grits out. “I’m just a fucking closet case, pining over my best friend.”

“A lot of things make you an idiot, Richie.” He looks up at her, brows creased, truly bewildered by her ability to knock him down while he’s down. It’s her twisted way of building him up. She snorts. “But loving Eddie is not one of those things.” 

She supposes she can’t lead him astray because there is a chance Eddie will _never_ be ready to love Richie and maybe that’s okay. It _is_ okay. It has to be because there is a reality that exists, and maybe it’s this one, where Eddie can’t love her son back. It’s a shame to see two people, so obviously designed to go through this world hand in hand, heart and heart, _not_ together but sometimes other things come up and prevent that from happening. They can love each other _maybe_ — but the self love and the self healing they each desperately need has to come first and that could be a prime reason why they will never get the love they always deserved with one another. 

“And maybe you two never end up together,” his shoulders slump. These are not words he wants to hear but he _needs_ to hear. “but you can still always love him, Richie but you can’t let loving him stop you from loving yourself or living your life. But you need to know that it’s not wrong of you to love him. It never has been. What is wrong, is allowing your words to separate the two of you from not a potential romance but your already well established friendship that you’ve had since you were kids and nearly lost. That, Richie, _is_ wrong.”

He processes this, attempting to internalize the words and challenge the negative cognitions surely running rampant in his mind, trying to convince him that he is every bad thought he has every thought about himself and to convince him to not speak to Eddie and to mend their current problems.

He sighs and pulls his phone out. “I’m gonna call him.”

xXx

When Richie finished his phone call with Eddie, he had emerged into the living area with bloodshot eyes and a red tinted nose. He didn’t disclose anything beyond informing her that it had “went well” and she elected to not press the matter. She still has no idea what was said between the two but it was enough to get them back on good, regular speaking (and teasing over the phone) terms. 

The three of them made sure to stay in contact with Eddie as it was quite obvious that whatever Myra was putting him through this week was only best described as a living hell. He’d facetimed them day three into his visit looking absolutely haggard with a stubble she had never expected to see upon Eddie’s always clean shaven face and bruise-colored circles tattooed under his eyes as the mark of sheer exhaustion. It wasn’t that Myra was making everything as difficult as he had anticipated for he was getting all the assets (including the money) that were rightfully his— but simply being in her vicinity, hearing the jabbing remarks and the chronic complaining was taking its toll on him. Luckily, he would be back by Sunday evening and would hopefully have the divorce finalized before the end of the year. 

Maggie knew that him being there was only going to be a setback in regards to his mental healing due to the undue stress he was being put through but it would be over soon and he could get back on track. But perhaps being in New York, alone with his thoughts and his things— specifically the things Sonia had packed away (also read as: hidden) from him that’d been stowed away in storage since he married Myra would play a part in that healing.

She was more than used to being the go-to counselor for Richie or any of his friends. She had created a home for all of them—a safe space they’d come to re-familiarize themselves with after this most recent return to Derry. It was not an uncommon occurrence for any of the Losers to phone her at peculiar hours to get a second opinion on something and it was something she welcomed with open arms and a fully charged phone. 

When Eddie called at night, just as she was about to slip into bed with her already dozing husband, she was concerned as it was well past midnight on the east coast but she did not anticipate much from the call. She knew he was stressed out and getting frustrated with Myra and probably needed someone to vent to and seeing as he already knew that Richie had therapy early tomorrow morning, he probably did not want to keep him up longer than he believed necessary for her son’s health. Plus, Maggie knew that for Eddie, she was the _only_ mother figure he really had. The others, with the exception of Mike and Bev, had their actual mothers to be there for them. She would always be there for all of them but especially those three and Eddie perhaps at the top of even those three for he had managed to take up a large amount in her heart from the moment she met him. 

“It’s awfully late there, isn’t it Eds?” She says in a hushed voice, leaving her and Went’s room to go into the small living space in the guest house. They rarely use it, always preferring to be near their son but it is nice to have this much space to themselves at times when they know Richie needs alone time. 

He huffs a ragged sound that is probably _supposed_ to be a laugh. That shoots a red flag or two up in her head. “Yeah, it kinda is.” He swallows thickly. 

“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” She asks and then adds, “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

This laugh is more genuine. “I wouldn’t dream of it Maggie.” A slow release of air. “It’s been… a lot. She’s been overwhelming to say the least. She’s definitely accepted that I don’t… I don’t want to be with her but for a hot second she was talking about marriage counseling and us staying together even though she signed everything already and I think it was just… some big guilt trip to keep me ‘round longer, but we’re getting there.” 

“I’m sorry she’s making it so hard.” She knows it could be worse. Myra has potential to do _so_ much more wrong by Eddie than she already has. They’re lucky it’s only the simpering tone she falls into and the bitter commentary about his life choices. It’s all cruel and unnecessary and enough to weigh heavily upon Eddie’s shoulders, but it could be worse. They all know that. 

“I know it could be worse.” He says, confirming her internal thoughts. “But that’s not why I called.”

“What’s on your mind, Eds?” 

“Well, I’m getting all of my stuff I still had here with her and I started going through some of my old boxes and storage and stuff— stuff my _mom_ packed away that I haven’t looked at in years.” He starts and she hums in acknowledgement, encouraging him to continue. “And, you already know everything that happened with all of us and the clown and how it kinda fucked up our memories, right?”

“I do, yes.” She responds slowly, unsure of what he’s getting at but something in the back of her brain _knows_ where this is going and she can’t decide how she feels. 

“Well, things are always trickling back into my brain and I always have these random moments where I remember some more minor things we did as kids or whatever and sometimes I remember _whole_ chunks of my life and these huge memories that I didn’t know I even forgot.” He explains, voice starting to quake. 

“It’s okay, Eddie. Take your time.” She tells him in a soothing tone. 

She can hear the sound of timed inhales and exhales— a technique he’s picked up in his most recent sessions with the new therapist. She’s happy to hear him utilizing it. 

“I was going through some stuff and I found some old pictures and notes and just a bunch of things and it just made _all_ of this… this stuff come back and I don’t know how to feel about it… I mean I do, but at the same time I’m completely freaking out and I don’t even know if I’m reading it right or if it’s just something that I want to b— something I’m just imagining.”

“What is it, Eddie?” 

“Did… Did Richie and I date?” He asks.

She knew this would happen. She felt this would come eventually. Richie remembered them dating. It spiraled him into unspeakable horror; to run away and to hide and to nearly take himself off the board to never face the fear that (wrongly) accompanied the memories he was supposed to think of fondly with a warm smile and not terror and self hatred. She can only hope that this realization doesn’t elicit such reactions from Eddie as well. 

“You did, yes.” She answers. 

He makes a squeaking noise at that. “H-how…why… for how long?” 

She chuckles at that. “Well, technically you never broke up. You just forgot each other.” 

xXx

Eddie has a mild sexuality-related midlife crisis through the rest of the phone call. She could barely make out a word he was saying as his words blended into each other as the panic audibly rose within his voice. She did manage to settle him down a bit and get him to match her breathing and to collect himself. She helped him to recognize that it didn’t have to be anything if he didn’t want it to be and it was truly just a memory of their past. 

It was nothing to stress himself out over— although the feelings he exhibited only served to confirm how she believed he _still_ felt about her son. However, that was something that would remain confidential between her and Eddie. Eddie valued the trust they shared and she was not one to violate that even if she knew _hinting_ at that may eliminate some of Richie’s deeply rooted insecurities. They would discuss it in further detail perhaps when he came home but for now, she knew he was not about to go run off and lock himself away from his loved ones because of the feelings that arose from the resurfacing of such memories. 

She did not even tell Richie or Went about the discussion she had with Eddie. She knew Went would absolutely _love_ to hear about it like some gossip-hungry suburban housewife that made undersalted casseroles, but she was not going to reveal such information right now. Went was different than Richie— especially in this specific circumstance. She could honor anyone’s secrets but more often than not, a secret meant for _her_ was also meant for Went (or at least that’s how she viewed it). That may be an infringement upon whatever secret code is socially accepted by secret keepers and sharerers, but she didn’t care too much. Went was her soulmate and what she had in her mind, was to be shared with him. Only in a few instances, Richie’s clown-related trauma being one, did she keep some things to herself and now, Eddie’s rediscovery of his and Richie’s past (but technically not over because they did never actually break up) relationship would remain between only her and Eddie and not to her husband. 

She was currently snuggled up against said unknowing husband, having just finished making dinner for her son that was on his way home from some test shooting. It was times like this where they really did feel like an old retired couple as they sat lazily, staring at yet another HGTV show about couples with weird freelance jobs and an obscene amount of money who most definitely did not deserve the beach house with a private dock that they were purchasing. It wasn’t productive in the slightest but it was blissful and relaxing in a way that the two of them were entirely content with. 

Other times, she still felt like the same thirty-something mother handling a reckless and loud teenager. Especially right now as their silence is taken away by their son clambering into the entrance way with squeaky-soled tennis shoes. 

“Howdy!” He greets loudly, grinning ear to ear at them. He’s not wearing glasses right now, having gotten contacts as he does for a plethora of his acting roles. She thinks he looks more like himself with glasses but it’s also nice to see his entire face for once. “How ya doin’ ma and pops?” He questions in a southern twang. 

“Just darn good, Dickard.” Went chortles, giving a half-assed accent back. 

“How were the shoots?” She asks him. 

“Pretty good. We’ll probably start _officially,_ ” he does some jazz hands at that, “shooting by summertime. We honestly just wanted to play with lighting effects this time because I kinda wanted to use some symbolic lighting with my character.”

“You’re such a nerd.” Went teases. “Your mom made dinner if you’re ready to eat now.”

“It’s like four.” Richie snickers, checking his phone. “Eddie should be done with the devil by now, right?”

“He should be, yes.” Maggie nods. “And early dinner is healthy you asshole.”

Richie shoots a grin at her. “I’m gonna call Eds real quick.”

Maggie wriggles slightly at that. “Maybe you should wa— and you already are.” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Went gives her a look. She just shakes her head. “It’s fine.”

Richie’s face falls, staring at his phone with a distraught expression. 

“What’s wrong?” Went demands to know. 

Richie shakes his head and dials again. Maggie can faintly hear the sound that completely crushed her last August: _“Sorry the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or…_ ” he hands up his phone.

“I-I don’t know what’s happening. He might have blocked me.” He shakes his head. “Give me your phone.” He waves his hand at his father who immediately complies and gives him his cell phone. Richie knows Went’s passcode is Maggie’s birthday (her password is Went’s) and quickly types it in and tries to call Eddie again. 

She hears it again.

_“Sorry the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”_

Her heart is pounding as worry for Eddie surges in her. She thought she got through to Eddie last night or at least managed to ground him and prevent him from doing anything drastic or harmful to himself or others. This can’t be happening. Not again. She looks at her son, taking in his distraught expression and doesn’t know what to do or what to say. She wonders if when she found that Richie’s phone had been disconnected if she looked half as hurt as he does right now.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was okay. I was not expecting to end it ~there~ at first but then when I did the split... it just made me laugh so I decided. Yes. :) TENSIONS ARE HIGH WITH DICK TOASTER AND PASTA MAN <3 
> 
> also im not judging but the "chee" nickname has always been so strange to me but I've decided it's because Richie Tozier is actually a fanfic trope we all accepted and his real name is Cheddar Cheese Tozier. It's canon. <3
> 
> Let me know what ya think or fuckin say hi. How's ya fall been? I went to a pumpkin patch. It was fuckin great. @dylan fuckin comment dont text me you dirty bitch
> 
> richie and eddie are celebrating halloween almost every day by watching horror film that eddie absolutely despises but watches because he likes seeing richie get excited (and scared shitless)


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will be 9 months on Oct. 13th!!! Someone also informed me this fic is almost 3/4 as long as the actual story, "It" by the twisted bastard himself, Stephen King. I thought that was lowkey wild because this is the first piece of multi-chapter fiction I've written since I was 14 (am 22) so that's cool. 
> 
> I had fun plans for Halloween/ the election (big ass drinking time came because we do be scared) just cancelled because of covid so if people could start abiding by laws and wearing masks since they're designed to protect others and not yourself, that would be nice k thx. <3 
> 
> I was gonna wait to post this chapter but I crave serotonin in the form of ao3 emails from comments because it's sad boy hours. This chapter is a lot shorter than most but I hope it ends up being okay. As per usual, it was a struggle to write but ya know what that is my brand baby. 
> 
> also october is nearly halfway over which ~disturbs~ me lowkey. Oof. 
> 
> TW: Coming out discussions, mental health issues, discussions of suicide attempts, abusive/controlling relationships

Maggie knew that Richie was no longer scared and that he was becoming who he wanted and deserved to be; he was proud _._

**June 2017**

It took only a few hours for them to realize that they had panicked over Eddie’s disconnected phone for no reason. Bad memories can do that. The real problem had been that Myra no longer wanted to share a phone plan with Eddie and Eddie had decided to cancel their plan and had changed his number. It took him a while to figure out how to get a hold of the Toziers seeing as no one had to remember phone numbers anymore but he ended up just redownloading all of his social media apps and managed to get a hold of them over DMs. 

It was a wildly anticlimactic experience but it had also been incredibly distressing to endure even if it was just a couple of hours of them panicking and Richie being on the verge of tears (but was actually sobbing hysterically and will deny such a fact) the whole time but they got through it and Eddie managed to come home as planned with a divorce edging towards finalization and with his secret, rediscovered memory securely between him and Maggie. 

It had remained between them through the rest of spring and was still only between the two of them now, in June. He wasn’t ready to address that subject and that was okay. She knew he was discussing it in therapy and that itself was a major step for him. She knew he may never be ready to discuss his feelings about realizing he had dated her son at one point (and his feelings had remained intact after all this time) but that was alright. It had to be. 

Secrets aside, a lot of good had come for Eddie after returning home from New York. Sure, he’d been riddled with residual exhaustion and immense stress from having to see Myra for seven whole days, but he had the weight of that more grueling part of the divorce off of his shoulders. Sure, he had to wait for the divorce to be finalized before he was an official “free man” (who would have to make a dating profile as Richie had teased him incessantly about but was only making said jokes to conceal his own feelings of course), but he’d made it over one of the most daunting obstacles in this part of their separation and now he was truly thriving in his recovery process more than ever. 

As discussed in April, Eddie elected to apply for the nursing program at Richie’s alma mater, USC. He got accepted and was set to start some online coursework come fall. Eddie would eventually have to begin in-person classes and labs, but for now, they all believed that starting out online might be the best for his mental and physical recovery. The look of pure unadulterated joy that had crossed Eddie’s face upon opening that acceptance email (which had beat the giant envelope that showed up to Richie's mansion which would have probably been more fun to see him opening) was something Maggie would remember forever. Eddie was finally working to become the person his younger self had always wanted him to be. 

He had finally given up the medication he’d been manipulated into taking for the second time in his life. He went to a doctor, without Myra there overshadowing the appointment, and learned that he really did not need any of the medications he’d been taking. The only medication the doctor believed Eddie should be on was something for his anxiety if anything. He wasn’t up to being prescribed that, however. The idea of taking anything, after being lied to for so long, left a sour taste in his mouth. 

Fortunately, none of the medications he had been on had been of a high dosage and the weaning-off process had been relatively easy. He had some minor withdrawal symptoms in the form of upset stomach and migraines but that could also be easily attributed to just being around her son full time again. Regardless, Eddie was finally free from that control and it would take time to get over that residual fear of medication and hospitals, but Maggie believed that him working to enter the field and actually learning the semantics and science behind everything, could truly help in that process in conjunction with his talk therapy. 

Eddie no longer relied on a cane for _anything._ Eddie had finally decided to toss the cane into Richie’s garage and to (hopefully) never need it again. He was still going to physical therapy once every two weeks for he still had the slightest limp in his gait but it was only noticeable if you already knew he had had an injury. Eddie had been eyeing his running shoes more and more each day and it wouldn’t be too long until he was running laps around the neighborhood. 

Steve had been really helpful with Eddie’s recovery process thus far and had helped get him set up with a personal trainer to do some strength and endurance training in order to reach that goal of being able to run sooner rather than later. They truly did have a good relationship and thrived on ensuring Richie got through life without accidentally killing himself or getting himself “cancelled” or whatever. The two had gone out of their way on a few occasions, to just hang out by themselves whenever Eric was busy at his law firm job or Richie was doing shoots or just didn’t want to get up and move, and the two would get a bite to eat or work out together (Richie hated working out anywhere except with his personal trainer in a private gym where no one could see him wheeze and trip over dumbbells). 

Maggie would have thought that with them hanging alone so much that it would dawn upon Eddie that Steve was almost a clone of him, but no such realization ever occurred. Like her son, Eddie was a complete dumbass in the very best way. Steve, however, who’d noticed the similarities _immediately,_ only started noticing even the most subtle similarities in their minor quirks and habits each time they hung out and never failed to mention these to Maggie or Went over text or by phone call. 

“Richie’s subconscious _reallllly_ picked me out because I reminded him of his fuckin’ playground romance.” Steve had ranted to her once over the phone. There was no animosity in these conversations. It was completely lighthearted and while Richie realized their indistinguishable personalities (and appearances but those likenesses were more profound in his first college boyfriend) and was filled with utmost humiliation and fear (that Eddie would notice the similarities), everyone else just found it downright comical. 

Panic over the discovery that his taste was specific to short, dark haired, feisty men that gave a fuck about him, was not enough to thwart the substantial progress Richie has made in these last several months. He looked better than he had before leaving for Derry, healthy and working to gain muscle for his show (although Richie insisted he had no capacity to put on muscle at forty-one). With Eddie’s help, Richie was finally looking after his own health by eating a decent diet, working out and stretching at least four times a week (which resulted in him being able to touch his toes for the first time since his teens), and actually getting himself an epipen (and a back-up one for Eddie to carry around per Eddie’s request) after nearly killing himself on set when the caterers brought cookies to one of their shoot days for _Barry_ and he didn’t ask for the ingredients and ended up nearly going into anaphylactic shock. 

“DON’T YOU HAVE AN EPIPEN?” Eddie had screamed at him when they went to pick him up from the hospital as Richie would be too drained to properly operate a moving vehicle after the adrenaline crash he always faced after having a severe reaction. 

Richie, covered in angry hives and face still swollen, had offered Eddie a tired smile. “I do not, no.” He had told him in a slurred voice as his tongue was still slightly too big for his mouth.

“You’re an idiot.” Eddie had deadpanned.

“We’ve been trying to get him to carry one regulalry since college, Eddie. It’s never gonna happen.” Went had snorted, handing Richie a cup of ice chips for his gravelly voice. 

Eddie had proved that statement wrong and now Richie actually kept one in his glove compartment and made sure to bring it into any place where he might be around food that could be cross contaminated— a habit that should have developed as a child but just never did until he was reunited with his favorite Dr. K (or soon to be Nurse Spaghetti). 

Along with the self preservation instincts that had finally grown beyond that of a mayfly with a broken wing, Richie was finally getting over a lot of the fears he held in regards to his career and who he was. He was finally starting to recognize that he was successful and that he was allowed to be proud of himself. Most of the accomplishments he made were because of _himself._ Sure, he had a support system, but he was the talent and the mind behind all of the things he’d set out to do. He was more accepting of his flaws— and not in a self deprecating manner. Although, he would 100% continue to make fun of himself. That was something that would never cease. But even in all the humorous self criticisms, there was a flicker of self love somewhere in there. That’s all Maggie ever wanted to see from him. 

He wasn’t in a place where he was completely accepting of himself. He still held his sexuality and how he felt about certain spitfire brunettes to himself. She wished he could finally be out with himself and not in the bitter manner he grumped about it in front of her and his father but in a way that was unapologetic and comfortable with himself. But that was something he would need to continue to work on and it wasn’t something he could brush under the rug. He needed to accept that piece of him and maybe he never had to come out publicly, but he needed to love that part of him the way he deserved to. 

With Eddie and Richie doing so remarkably well and continuing to get better every single day, the two of them decided it was time to have a Losers reunion. An actual reunion— not some bastardized one dedicated to fighting a murderous clown like they had last summer. One spent in Richie’s mansion with _all_ of the Losers and their parents to simply cook out, celebrate all the good things each of them had come across this last year, and to finally all be together for the first time since 2016 without the weight of their childhood trauma upon each of them. Maggie was beyond excited to see all of the Losers again and to hear about their life updates but honestly, she was just thrilled to have a wine night with Andrea and Sharon again. 

It did take a bit of encouragement for Richie to be willing to see the Losers over something that wasn’t a pixelated Facetime call but Eddie managed to get him on board after what had to be a twelve hour long pep talk. Maggie knew he was nervous but he was also excited to see them again and to perhaps have some actual fun.

The nerves seemed to abate the moment he was surrounded by all of his Losers and their spouses who were, according to Richie, now being indoctrinated into their little outcast (but not nearly as outcast as they were as children given their individual social successes) cult near his pool, enjoying some of the healthier snacks Eddie had selected (and paid for with Richie’s credit card of course) and easily fell back into their old teasing antics from childhood all over again. He’d been sheepish at first but her son quickly fell back into his assumed role as the beloved Loser’s Club Trashmouth. As Maggie sat on the patio with her husband, Andrea, Sharon, and Donald, sipping on wine, she felt like she was watching the same goofy bunch of seven kids in their backyard like she did in summers past. 

What really mesmerized Maggie was it was obvious that Richie and Eddie had been undergoing a lot of their own recovery as their struggles were some of the most obvious given the nature of them but it was a known fact (at least to her) that all of the Losers had been going through their own respective hellish lifestyles induced by the traumatized subconscious they had been unable to remember for so long. But now, after catching up with all of them, and hearing from not only them but their parents (of the one ones that still had parents, god that was a hit to her frequent mortality crisis), it was clear as day that _all_ of the Losers had experienced a necessary mental and physical growth. 

Bev, like Eddie, had finally escaped an abusive relationship. She’d gone about it sooner than Eddie had, having filed for it almost right after their stint in Maine had come to a close. The divorce had been finalized just at the start of 2017 and Bev was truly thriving after escaping that dreadful man. She was able to take full control of _Rogan-Marsh Designs_ and had it completely rebranded and renamed to _January Embers Clothing Co._ (an inside thing between her and Ben she suspected) once it was released to the press that Tom was a living and breathing piece of elephant shit— no offense to elephants. Once the divorce had finally been finished, she had immediately followed Ben on an extended vacation, travelling the Carribean and adopting a three-legged rescue dog, Samson, with him. She had finally found herself someone she deserved and was absolutely glowing. 

With Bev by his side, Ben was no longer this lonely architect from Nebraska. He didn’t live an empty, isolated life of insecurity and emptiness. He had fulfillment with Bev by his side which served to enhance his creativity for his company and caused his business to boom. She was the fire he needed to propel him forward and to give him a confident voice to declare what he wanted out of his employees. He was putting out more ideas and creating more jobs, and making _Hanscom Associates_ one of the leading names in not only architecture but just in all self-built businesses across the board and Maggie knew that was only a fraction as to why he was so happy now. He finally had someone to share his success with and that had to make everything feel like it was worthwhile.

After Mike finally left Derry, he did not immediately go to Florida. He gave himself a little road trip of sorts before he got down south to appreciate the sights (even if the sights down south did have some peculiar things to offer along the way) and give himself an adventure of sorts. He deserved to take all the time he wanted. He was free for the first time in his life; free of a town that never wanted him or his beautiful family. Derry never wanted anyone with a heart or an ounce of compassion. Mike Hanlon had such incredible qualities in ample amounts which is why upon finding himself a place in Orlando, he put that positive energy into getting himself hired by the most famous capitalistic rodent around and got to work as a Merchandise cast member in Future World at Epcot. After being in the worst place on Earth for a majority of his life, he truly deserved to be in the “most magical place on Earth” for the rest of his life. 

Bill had finally seemed to rid himself the incessant guilt that he’d been shouldering unconsciously for years. He looked lighter than he had when Maggie had seen him last year and was visibly more laid back; almost having the ‘cool English profesor’ vibe to him. He was no longer stuck in the cycle of writing pisspoor, disappointing endings that just nearly ruined the entire book and left one’s mood soured after finishing the final page. Behind him were the days of bleak and depressing stories and now and ahead of him, were tales of growth and friendship and sure there were sad moments but with every low he wrote, Bill would write the highest high. The positivity in his writing was reflective in his mood as well. He was in a better place with his marriage and any strain that’d been there prior was gone and she could see that in their body language and most notably, how the two of them were planning to start trying to have a baby which was thrilling for all of the Losers and their parents to hear. 

Of course Richie had to be a dick about it and say, “So basically you’re telling us that you’re getting laid?” But even with her son’s crude commentary (which earned him a deserved smack from Stan), he was still more than overjoyed to hear this news for his friend. 

Stanley Uris was definitely doing quite stellar and Maggie absolutely _adored_ seeing him with Patty. She knew he was absolutely beguiled by her existence when she’d had him over last autumn and heard how he talked to her, but being able to witness the fond gaze he had in his eyes when he looked at her was truly something special. He was aglow with such genuine happiness as he sat there, for the first time since their youth, surrounded not only by his beautiful wife, but his very best friends. Stan always had a dark cloud above him— wise beyond his years and sad for a reason he could not even see or touch. His brain had betrayed him at a young age but he had grown with Patty and was well beyond the hurt he had held in himself after nearly ending his own life last summer. He was positively radiant.

Except now Stan was soaking wet for her son, ever the klutz, had tripped over Bev’s flip flops and while trying to regain his balance had yanked Stan right into the pool with him— clothes and all. 

“I can’t see.” Richie whined, sputtering out water and blindly looking for the pool’s edge.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Stan huffed, spiraly curls limp on his forehead, wading toward the edge but as Richie continues bitching about his glasses, he succumbs to his own kind heart and dives back down to search for the spectacles having not lost his own in the unintentional dunk session. He surfaces and jabs them none too gently upon her son’s dripping face. “You look like a drowned rat.”

“And you look beautiful Stan The Man.” He beams, pulling himself out and already shivering like a chihuahua. California has made him weak. 

“They keep me feeling young.” Andrea chuckles. 

“Some things never change.” Maggie agrees, picking up some towels and walking over to them. “Let’s get you both inside before you two get sick or something.” She hands them each a towel which they both quickly burrow themselves in. “We will return in a moment.” She snorts. 

“My phone survived.” Richie beams excitedly, waving it at them as they come in through the back sliding door. 

“Yeah because Eddie made you put that thing in one of those five hundred dollar Life Proof cases.” Stan snarks back, rubbing his glasses with the corner of his towel as he drips through the kitchen alongside Richie. “I’d have killed you if my phone was in my pocket.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that Stanny.” Richie jeers. 

“I feel like I’m back in the 80s again with you two.” Maggie giggles.

“He definitely hasn’t matured since ‘89, that’s for sure.” Stan grunts not unkindly, unable to contain the small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You two go ch—”

“Is this not _my_ house?” Richie asks incredulously. 

“You’re a child, Dick.” Stan interrupts to which Richie huffs indignantly at. 

“Go change and then bring me your wet clothes. I’ll deal with it so you two can go back to creating a ruckus with one another.” She snips at them.

“Rich, do you have anything I can borrow?” Stan questions. 

“Aw, you wanna wear my clothes?” He waggles his brows playfully. “That’s _adorable!_ ” 

“I only packed clothes for today and tomorrow and I don’t wanna wear my airport clothes or put my pajamas on right now, asshole.” 

“Rich, just give him something.” Maggie scolds. 

“Alright, alright. But just know I respect these advances Stanley, but I have to say I would hate to be the reason your love with Patricia fa— OW!” He yipes as Stan kicks him in the shin as they make their way up the steps. 

It feels right. It really does. They’re in a state of bliss they’ve not had in decades. They’re reunited. They’re all so genuinely happy as each of them have deserved to be their whole lives and were wrongly deprived of such an experience because of a pisshole small town in Maine. It’s not too late for good things, though. They had too much bad for far too long and maybe the happiness _should_ have always been there, but it wasn’t and they can’t fix that. They have now. They have the opportunity, for the rest of their lives, to be happy with one another and maybe the decades without it will make them cherish it more than they would have had it always been there. 

Richie slides in, carrying his and Stan’s sopping wet clothes and wearing an oversized sweatshirt Eddie had gotten him for his forty-first birthday and sweats— far too warm for June weather but Richie was chilled to the bone after tumbling into his heated infinity pool. He is a complete and utter wuss and she loves that about her son. 

“Your clothes, hun?” She requests.

“I can take care of my own clothes, mother.” He snorts.

“No, no. You should be with your friends. I can take a break from downing wine and discussing my fear of nursing homes.” She huffs, pulling them from him. “Where’s Stan?”

“I’d never put you in one of those Magma!” Richie pokes her in the shoulder and he snorts feebly. “He wanted to clean my closet after he saw it.”

“You two really never changed, huh?” She giggles. This weekend has given her more deja vu than she could have ever imagined.

“Guess not.” He shrugs. “I’ll wait for old man Stanny in here.” He decides, bustling in the fridge and taking out a water bottle. 

“You better recycle that!” She reminds him as she steps into the laundry room located just off of the kitchen. They’re in California. They shouldn’t even be buying disposable water bottles anymore.

He simply laughs but she knows he will. She’s shaking her head as she pulls the belt out of Richie’s belt loops. It’s a miracle he hasn’t broken the washer with the amount of times he’s thrown his belts into it. His belts, however, even the most expensive ones, rarely survive the spin cycle. As she bustles about she hears Stan, expecting them to just go outside now. However, that is _not_ what happens.

“You never opened it.” Stan says loud enough for her to easily hear. She goes quiet and of course decides to eavesdrop. She immediately knows what Stan is talking about— his letter that she gave him to read when she found him in Cleveland. She assumed he must have read it by now but obviously it was still perfectly sealed in its envelope, unread by the eyes who needed it most. He must have kept it in his closet all this time.

“I just… I couldn’t do it.” Richie tells him, voice soft and uncertain; a contrast from the booming and teasing tones he’d presented before his fellow Losers. 

Stan sighs. “I think you need to read what I wrote in this.”

“Why? You’re alive and I’m alive. Why back pedal and rehash this stuff, again. I mean I never thought we were _that_ alike Stan but clearly we are.” He attempts to jest about their similar methods of attempted suicide. He’s always joked when he’s uncomfortable.

“That’s not funny, Richie.” Stan bites out. She agrees. “I mean it, Rich. You’re alive and we’re all so thankful for that but who are you kidding, Rich? You’re still not okay. You’re still so fucking unsure of yourself and you’re… holding back so much and you can’t live like that.” A pause. Maggie’s heart is in her through. This is all too reminiscent of a moment in their Derry living room back in October of ‘92 when her son, unsure of himself (even then) had completely broken down in front of his longest standing best friend. “Read it.”

She slowly places their drenched clothes in the top load, careful to make a normal amount of noise so as to not permit them the knowledge that she can hear them clear as day. 

She hears the tear of an envelope. 

“Be careful. Don’t maul the envelope. You’ll rip the letter.” Stan advises. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Richie murmurs, unfolding it and falling into silence as he scans the words once meant for all of the Losers but now nothing they had to read as Stan had survived and they still beat the clown but the note was somehow something her son still needed to hear.. 

She hears a faint hiccup and a sniffle. 

“Goddammit.” Richie whimpers.

“You always were a crybaby.” Stan comments wetly. “I mean it, Rich. I want you to do those things. “You don’t need to be afraid anymore, Rich. You should be proud of who you are and all you’ve done and of who you are.”

Richie sobs loudly. “You still know, don’t you.” 

“Yeah, I do. I… I remembered you pretty fast and I remembered you the clearest as I wrote this. I’d watched your specials and your movies just because—”

“You thought I was funny?” Richie attempts to joke, but his quivering voice betrays him.

“I’m not answering that because I’m not fueling your ego which is huge even though you’re the most insecure person I’ve ever met in my fucking life,” Richie snorts loudly at that but Stan continues, “ but honestly, it just felt so familiar to me like Bill’s shitty books, or seeing Ben’s name in magazines, or the cufflinks that I could barely afford from Bev’s clothing line. But you were also familiar, but a lot of your jokes and your stories felt wrong coming from you because I knew there was _more_ to this famous dork I was seeing on my TV. I knew he was holding back and that he was ashamed of something that he _shouldn’t_ be.”

“Should I write more jokes about my receding hairline instead then?” Richie tries but Stan won’t have it.

“Stop insulting yourself, asshole. You should be proud of all the things you do and you should be proud of _that_ part of you too.” Stan sighs. “You don’t need to be scared, Rich. It’s like I said. I have lived my entire life afraid… except when I met Patty but when I was afraid, I ruined so much for myself and now I’m past that and I’ve never felt better and you can too. You _need_ to stop being afraid, Richie. You can be proud and finally start living your life without this fear you’ve been carrying for no reason, Richie. Everyone loves you and you need to start loving yourself and that means _that_ part of you too.”

Richie makes a choked sound and she hears a chair squeak and the sound of someone sobbing into fabric. 

“It doesn’t have to be today. I just need you to know that these words, everything I wrote here, is something I want you to try and live by. Okay?”

“I’m so glad you’re here, Stan.” Richie manages to get out. “I’m so glad you fucking failed.”

“I’m glad you did too.” Stan tells him. “You’re going to be okay, Rich.”

“I know.” And for the first time, he sounds confident in himself. 

“We should probably make a reappearance, you know.” Stan tells him lightly.

“I will. I think… I think I wanna be alone for a bit though if that’s okay. Maybe make it look like I didn’t just cry my eyes out. I have a tough guy image to maintain”

“Richie, you’re the reincarnated version of a dramatic, fainting dame from the 19th century. No one in their right mind would be surprised if you cried your eyes out at _any_ given moment.”

“Dame!” Richie scoffs hoarsely. “You were always an old man. Jesus.”

“Take your time Rich. I mean it though, alright? I think you’re obscenely annoying,”

“Gee thanks.”

“ _But_ I am always here for your stupid ass.” 

“Thanks Stan.”

“Also, try to keep your closet clean for once. I’m going to have an aneurysm in Georgia if I find out you mess that shit up again when I leave.”

“You got it Staniel.” Richie cackles. 

She hears the sound of the back door opening and closing followed by the sound of Richie stuffing the letter back into the envelope. She hits start on the washer and throws her hair up in a messy bun to give the appearance that she was busier beyond loading a few wet clothes into the washer and was not merely listening to her son’s miniature pep talk. She slides out, maintaining composure and shoots him a kind smile. 

“Stan still up there cleaning?” 

“No.” He shakes his head, rubbing at his face that is splotchy and red from crying. “I just needed a little break, I guess.”

“You alright, Rich?”

He’s going to say ‘yes,’ like a liar.

“Yes.” He lies. She will not press the matter for his sake. 

Reading a note that was _not_ a suicide note but was still written as last words geared toward oneself before the writer’s attempted suicide had to be an emotionally exhuastive experience that few could relate to.

“Alright, you comin’ back out?” She nods toward the door.

“I will. I think I need a minute, alright?”

“That’s okay, Rich.” She rubs his shoulder. “Come out whenever you want, okay?”

“I’ll be out soon.” He informs her, pulling out his phone as a distraction. 

“Alright, love you.” She ruffles his damp curls and heads back out.

“Love you too!” He calls out.

She smiles and sees Stan socializing loudly with the Losers but his focus keeps diverting back to the door, awaiting Richie’s return anxiously. She shoots him a soft smile and then seats herself back with the other parents. Normally, most kids, once they are full grown, elect to mingle alongside their now eldery parents but not the Losers Club. They want their time together to feel just like they’re kids again and to act too cool to be around their now greying and crepe-skinned parents and the Loser Parents (as Went likes to call themselves) are completely content with that. Their children rarely have given them a moment of peace (which they’re fairly thankful for as that would have made life dreadfully dull), and letting them be on their own for once is the only time they may feel a fraction of peace and quiet. 

Richie does not reemerge for a while and Maggie is starting to feel antsy as the crisp blue sky melts into a blend of orange and pinks as the sun begins its descension below the horizon line. Everything he heard and had to process can be rather draining and she wants him to take all the time he needs but also, something in her brain triggers her own anxieties and causes her palms to sweat around her wine glass and her heart to flutter at an increasing pace within the confines of its cage. 

Finally, just as she was about to make up some bullshit excuse to go back inside to check on her son, Richie comes back out looking a little worse for wear. His expression is completely shell shocked, shoulders tense and fingers fidgeting at his sides. He doesn’t move away from the back door, feet cemented beneath him as he stares blankly into the pool as if he longs to throw himself into the water for the second time today. 

“Rich, you alright?” Eddie calls over, also having noticed the unease Richie is presently holding in himself. Maggie can’t say she’s surprised that _he_ would be the other person to notice. 

Eddie’s beckoning has everyone turning to face the gangly comic, a surge of worry thick in the atmosphere. 

“You good, Rich?” Bill questions, reaching him first and leading him to the patio table with their parents who quickly make room for her distressed son.

Richie blinks owlishly behind his glasses. Everyone crowds around him, leaving a respectable amount of space as to not overwhelm him whilst in such a state of disquietude.

“What’s up, Dickard?” Went pats his shoulder.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Maggie asks him quietly, crouching next to him.

Richie pulls his phone out of his pocket, his hand trembling as he holds the device. “I think I either did something really great or really bad.”

“What did you do?” Maggie narrows her eyes at him, uncertain of what that could possibly mean.

Richie swallows and unlocks his phone wordlessly, opening up Twitter which Maggie can see is filled with an abundance of notifications. She’s not the most social media savvy person but to have that many notifications is usually, as Richie said, _really great_ or _really bad_. 

“Richie, why are you trending?” Ben asks, looking down at his own cell phone, scrolling rapidly.

Maggie ignores their bumbling as Richie slides his phone to her. She reads his most recent tweet and like Richie, she is filled with such intense emotion but it is such a mix of things that she cannot decide what emotion is currently ruling in her heart. 

**Richie Tozier** _@DickToaster69_

Since i got so much support w my mental health i decided

its time to finally be honest w/ myself and my fans: im gay 

and im not scared to be anymore. homophobes: dont let the 

door hit ur flat ass on the way out :)

tldr: my name is dick and i also happen to like dick

  
  


She feels most proud of him. Sure, there’s an unnecessary anxiety for the situation because she knows there’s going to be backlash that Richie will fixate on, but _this,_ this is such a brave step for him and no matter the aftermath, she’ll be there and she knows his friends are going to be there.

“Holy shit.” Bev breathes out, reading the post with the other Losers. 

“I didn’t mean you had to do _this_ , Richie.” Stan gapes.

“Go big or go home, right?” Her son says abashedly. His phone starts to buzz as everyone erupts into conversation, nothing negative, just surprise for some (who may not have entirely remembered this bit of Richie) and happiness from others. Eddie says nothing though. His face is mostly blank as he stares at Richie. 

Richie answers, “Hi Steve.”

Went and Donald, in true dad fashion, wave their arms dramatically to shut everyone up so Richie can talk to his manager.

He chuckles slightly at something Steve has said. “I dunno. I got some inspiration from someone.” He glances at Stan. “So, how’s it looking?”

He nods even though Steve can’t even see him, processing whatever Steve is telling him. She hopes it’s only good things.

“That’s not bad… not bad at all.” He takes a long breath, blinking rapidly to halt an onset of less dry emotions from overtaking him. He laughs to himself, chin resting on his chest. “Okay. Thanks Steve. It means a lot and...uh I’m sorry I never did this with you.” He sniffles, his smile unfaltering. “Thanks. I love you too, man.” He hangs up and offers a small thumbs up.

“I think congratulations is in order for our Trashmouth.” Mike declares loudly, stepping forward and pounding Richie happily on the back and pulling him out of his chair to hug him so tight that Richie nearly goes off of his toes— an impressive feat given that Richie is edging closer to being the sturdily built man he’d been before his recent relapse.

Richie laughs, rubbing aggressively at his eyes. “Most people only have to do this shit once.” 

“I’m so proud of you.” Went murmurs into Richie’s hair, fluffed up from chlorine as he pulls him into a fatherly hug. 

The Losers and their parents all offer their own sentiments, patting Richie on the back and squeezing him in hugs that have him groaning dramatically. Maggie can see the tears tracking down his flushed cheeks and the grin stretching across his face. She sees it in his eyes and the way he holds himself as every single one of his guests touch him and shower him with their praise— he’s free. He is no longer a puppet doing the bidding of what he believed was accepted. His strings have been finally cut. He is free of a fear and of a shame that has burdened him for far too long. He doesn’t have to hide behind a guise of heterosexuality and conceal a part of him that has no ill meaning behind it as he’d been convinced it had by the voice in the back of his mind that had been implanted by a hateful town and a monstrous clown hellbent on derailing him of a genuinely happy life. Richie is finally _free_.

He can be Richie— every single bit of Richie and her son knows this as he smiles the biggest smile she thinks she’s ever had the privilege to see upon his face. She thinks the smile would be even bigger if he noticed the way that after Eddie had engulfed him in perhaps the tightest hug of the night, Eddie stared at him just a bit longer; a gaze of pure adoration and utter beguilement written across his features. It was a look of true love.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was okay? Eek. Told you 42s cliffhanger wasn't gonna be anything too worrisome. :) 
> 
> Happy National Coming Out Day!!!! Remember, even if you are not out, you are valid!
> 
> Also, I made a twitter account (which I will never use solely to check if Richie's tweet would fit the character count and it did!!! lmaoooo
> 
> Update: made DickToaster69 a twitter account. 
> 
> I'm currently working on 44 and I think that one might take a while because I am dabbling in something I never planned on doing so yeah. Ack. 
> 
> Lemme know if this was okay!!! 
> 
> Richie and Eddie are loading up on Halloween candy and Richie keeps trying cool spooky recipes and the only scary thing is his inability to use a mixing bowl properly.


	44. Part VI: Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this took a long time because my mental health and self worth has tanked lower than Richie's in this entire story tbh. But it's totally fine? I have zero sense for the passage of time and that's just wild rn.
> 
> this one is super fucking long so definitely get a snack and take periodic breaks if needed. This one is officially the longest chapter at 25.8k words. OOOF. I could have split it but I wanted to compare a certain treatment and understanding of a specific character between two different narratives and I hope I do that okay? I am worrisome.
> 
> I decided to try something a little different with this chapter and I'm not sure if it's going to pan out the way I hoped. I am extremely nervous about it and I apologize if it ends up disappointing but an attempt was made when my brain was functioning just barely so i know a lot of things probably sound redundant and weird and idk i really did try and idk i'm just nervous about this one? I'm always nervous though. We established that and I'm just thankful for how nice everyone has been.
> 
> BIG TIME TW: Some gore and talks of body parts as a result of a trick ass clown ~devouring~ children, Miscarriage/Still-birth, cancer, death from cancer, homophobia, use of f-slur, abusive projection, and manipulative/abusive parenting as a result of untreated mental health issues. If any of these topics are touchy for you, please skip to Maggie's part of this chapter. I'll have (***) in bold around the areas whereby such events are centered which is almost the entire first half of this chapter and again IF ANY OF THOSE are difficult for you, please please please please skip this chapter. I'll explain the gist of it at the end notes!!!!

**July 1962**

**Derry, Maine**

With school out and children indulging the freedoms they lacked during the school year, the amount of missing children that had a trickling but still concerning rate back in the earlier months of the year, had absolutely skyrocketed in just the one month the kids had been on summer vacation. The disappearances were distressing, yes, but the worst part was the _reappearances_ of these children that were only ever found in literal bits and pieces— decapitated heads with eyes gouged out, arms with missing fingers, and the occasional foot that was still encased in bloodstained Chuck Taylors. 

What was peculiar about this was that while adults seemed concerned and were enforcing stricter curfews and making regular police reports, none of them were really doing anything. The adults of Derry almost seemed content in letting whatever _this_ was take its course (as if something this vile and catastrophic had a distinct course to follow) and simply hoping that it wasn’t _their_ child that was taken. 

Tensions among kids were incredibly high. Too many had lost friends and were forced to spend their summer in groups, always nervously looking over their sunscreened shoulders whilst roaming the sun warmed streets. It was never a question of _when_ the next disappearance was going to occur— those were a near daily occurrence as of now. No, the real question was _who_ would be next. _That_ ’s what weighed upon the youth of this town and made it near impossible to sleep comfortably in their beds at nightfall or for anyone to pick up the town’s paper route. The last three teens that’d picked up the job had been reported missing; one of which was a girl who ended up being found with her head (missing a nose) stuffed into the basket attached to the handlebars of her banana bike. 

No child felt remotely safe in this town. They wanted to stay close to their parental figures and to make attempts to spend their summer months _inside_ with as many friends as they could in order to reduce the risk of them becoming the next missing child. However, some of the older teens, what with their optimism biases that tricked their rapidly developing, hormonal brains into believing that they were somehow invincible, seemed to not really care too much and elected to spend their summer _not_ living in fear nor taking the recommended precautionary measures. They believed themselves to be above whatever was happening in this town and were not about to let their high school summers be ruined by a few missing kids and some disembodied limbs. 

“I mean I’ve never tried beer before.” A frizzy haired teen, slightly heavier and face occupied with a pair of browline glasses says. She was one of the teens that did not seem to care too much about the disappearances for she would not let something so trivial wreck her ability to live out her teen years. The girl is laying in the overgrown lawn of a ranch style home, tying the stems of dandelions together to form various pieces of jewelry that stain her stubby fingers a bright yellow. “I don’t even know if it’s good.” 

“Well, do you think we can sneak some from your sister?” A slim brunette with a pug-like nose inquires, picking at the grass absentmindedly. She is a tad more mindful than her friend but still would rather spend the summer enjoying the warm breeze and the sun burning the apples of her cheeks and the tip of her nose, rather than isolating (protecting) herself in the confines of a friend’s stuffy home.

The other girl shrugs, sitting up with a soft grunt. “I dunno. I mean she’s got a date tomorrow so we could then.” 

“The Ripsom guy?” Her friend asks, a teasing grin curling her features. 

“Yeah, I think so.” She chuckles. 

“He’s got the _best_ smile.” The other says dreamily. 

“Well you might just have a chance, Janice.” The frizzy haired one snickers. “I think she’s only going out with him because he gives her a discount on icecream downtown.”

“Oh that’s just _rotten_.” Janice chuckles, shaking her head. 

“But I think I could sneak a few cans from her room. She might get real sore with me if she finds out I took some but if she does anything I’ll just tell mom that she paid that one college kid to get them for her anyway.” 

“Have you ever been drunk before?” Janice asks, lowering her voice. 

“I just told you I’d never tried any before!” The other reminds her. 

Janice smiles sheepishly, her buzzing brain quick to forget such details when they were about to something as deviant as _underage drinking!_ “I’m just curious.”

“Where should we do it?” She bites at her lipstick covered lip, coating the bottom of her top teeth with the peachy pigment. “I don’t think I want to drink at my house.”

“Not mine either.” The brunette shakes her head fiercely, a few strands slipping from the loose ponytail she’s put together in order to alleviate the swampy feeling on the back of her neck.

“What about that one abandoned house?” Her friend suggests, handing her friend a sloppily tied dandelion flower crown. “The one on the corner of Neibol—”

“No!” Janice snaps, eyes narrowing to suggest anger but her dandelion-stained fingers betray her fierceness as they tremble in fear. “It’s not safe and I’m pretty sure it’s haunted.”

Her curly head friend scoffs loudly, rolling her eyes dramatically. “ _Everyone_ from school goes there to drink after football games. You know that.”

“It just gives me the creeps, Sonny.” She sighs. “And with everything that’s happening… I don’t know.”

“Janice nothing bad is going to happen if we stay together. You know everyone is just being dramatic and plus, it’s _summer_. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves.” Sonny pats her back, offering a kind smile. “We’ll stay on the first floor. We don’t even have to explore the place.”

“ _You_ not nosing around?” Janice snorts. 

“Oh shush.” An involuntary smile dimples her half attempted glare. “I’ll bring four cans—two for each of us— and I dunno, some cards or something.”

“Bring your journal so we can write down how we feel after each quarter we finish.” Janice insists, eyes aglow with pleasure in their impending act of mischief. 

“I will.” She chuckles. “Meet me in front of the fence around six, alright?”

“Alright.” Janice’s expression hardens a bit. “Don’t you dare be late. You’re _always_ late, Son.” 

She rolls her eyes back. “I won’t be late. I promise.”

xXx

Of course she’s late but she has an excuse this time. Her sister’s date had been late himself which meant that she could not complete the task of sneaking into her older sister’s room and searching under her bed for the beer that her sister had gotten off some college student home for summer break. There was no way she could show up to Neibolt with just a backpack of cards, her journal, and _no_ alcohol. That would ruin this milestone of getting drunk together for the first time before they entered their senior year of high school. Hopefully the cookies she’d snagged from the kitchen would compensate for her tardiness, she thought as she darted out of the front door and made her way to Neibolt. 

The summer heat was thick and made the air feel like molasses so she was forced to take a few breaks in between jogging sessions; shifting her backpack to try and prevent it from rubbing on her back as it was creating a pattern of sweat down the back of her sundress. She grumbled to herself, wishing she’d thought to schedule a visit to the quarry or city pool to cool off before this little adventure. 

Huffing slightly, she approaches the dilapidated looking well house that is a stark contrast next to the other well kept homes near it. She is surprised to _not_ see Janice waiting in front of the rusted wrought iron fence. She wonders if Janice got annoyed with her being late and went home or decided to come meet her at her place to scold her for not living up to her word. She bounces on her heels for a moment, a sensation of anxiety bubbling within her. She supposes she can wait for a bit and see if Janice herself is also late or returns from looking for her (if that’s where she’s gone).

She stares at the front, a small smile casting upon her freckled features as she admires the juxtaposition of the beautifully blooming sunflowers that scatter the otherwise heinous looking lawn of the ominous looking Neibolt house. Even the ugliest and most dangerous looking things have _some_ capacity for beauty. 

She’s not wearing a watch and can only gauge time by the amount of toe raises she does whilst the feeling of anticipation rises in her. She watches as a mother if the woman is still a mother as she lost her son in the spring to the same force that is taking other kids left and right, walking a dog she’d gotten to fill the void. She observes a squirrel’s erratic running pattern that spans from the halfway point of a tree trunk to the middle of the street where it nearly met its end by a speeding car, to the edge of a sewer drain and then back up the same tree it had previously abandoned. She finds herself making shapes of the few clouds that scatter the sky that slowly dyes itself a rich orange. The days are still long but since the solstice, she’s already noticed that it’s getting darker earlier now. 

Still no sign of Janice.

“Dammit.” She grumbles, ready to turn on her heel and just abandon their rebellious adventure and to simply head to Janice’s house where she’s surely fuming at her for not being there whenever she’d arrived. 

“Don’t leave yet, Sonny!” A wickedly cheery voice giggles and the voice enough chills the sweat accumulating upon her skin and makes her feel as if she’s been dunked in an unpleasant ice bath. She whips around to see a clown with fiery orange hair, bucked teeth, amber colored eyes, clad in an old fashioned, filthy looking costume standing in front of the well house. However, his ghastly appearance isn’t what widens her eyes or shuts her heart down in fear. It’s the fact that his long gangly arms are wrapped around a battered looking Janice, her eyes wide with panic as she looks at her friend.

“Run!” Janice cries to her friend only to be thrust into a chokehold by… _It._ She whimpers in his hold, eyes desperate for rescue.

Sonny is at a loss for words, chest heaving and mouth open and quivering as It twists his mouth into a sinister looking grin. 

“You just had to be on time, Sonny! One little favor and little Janny here would be oh alright! But you couldn’t even do that!”

She shakes her head, wanting to scream for someone to help but she can’t conjure up the vocal capacity to do that right now for some reason. Her throat feels like she’s swallowed cement and she can only manage to croak, “L-let her go. Please. Take me.”

“Oh, Sonny. I don’t want _you_!” It cackles. “I’ll have a piece of you someday in my home. Oh, yes. A piece of you will one day come here to be home and float with me forever!”

She can’t piece together what he means by that. “Please.” She begs again, tears streaming down her cheeks as she sees the terror in Janice’s eyes. “Please don’t do this.” 

“Oh I’ve not done this, Sonny.” The clown’s town is darker and deeper— not so teasingly jovial but dark and deep; threatening. 

His jaw unhinges like a snake, face swelling with the motion as he arches his neck and takes a massive bite out of Janice’s throat, effectively killing her right before her friend’s fearful eyes. Her friend manages to utter a scream that seems to alert nobody in the neighborhood, uselessly ricocheting off the rotting boards of the well house.

“ _You_ did this.” He chuckles, the blood and guts of Janice spilling down his mouth and into the ruffles of his collar. “Her blood is on your hands!” Red balloons begin to flow from the windows and doors of the house and she stumbles backward, the latex spheres immediately obscuring her vision of her deceased friend whom she continues to cry desperately for. She falls over onto her back, cushioned somewhat by the backpack but her elbows still skinning on the sidewalk as she crawls away, sobbing. 

Janice is dead— all because she could not be on time. But this can’t be her fault. No. This… It has been the culprit behind everything all along. She cannot be to blame. This can’t even be real. Nobody can _eat_ a human just as It had eaten Janice’s throat. It can't be real. It’s not! 

As the balloons dissipate and she can finally see where the clown had been and sees nothing— not even Janice or a trace of her. She screams out her friend's name and receives no response. She stumbles to her knees, eyes darting around. Perhaps she had a heat induced hallucination. She shakes and she thinks she might be okay but then she thinks about what It had said. 

Something possesses her to look down at her palms. They are soaked in blood— hot and dripping as it coats her hands and slides down to her elbows in thick rivulets. This is Janice’s blood. She had been late so It took Janice. It killed Janice because of her. The scream she releases is inhumane and rips her throat raw.

Sonia Atkinson’s hands will never be clean again.

**(***)**

Sonia Kaspbrak knew that her Eddie-bear was fragile and would always need protecting.

**September 1969**

Sonia Atkinson, a Derry resident her entire life was never one to take risks or gamble with her own safety— and for that she was quite proud of herself. She kept her eyes peeled for even a whisper of trouble as she knew this town held something sinister and Sonia was not nearly as foolish as the rest of the individuals of this town appeared to be. Many of them had been here just as long as she had and had completely forgotten the horrors the town had endured just seven years ago, when she was in her late teens; with young kids disappearing left and right and reappearing as slaughtered, disembodied limbs and the occasional heads with no evidence to suggest who or _what_ had been behind those gory crimes. 

She didn’t remember _all_ of the details but she knows she remembers more in her deep subconscious but her mind is attempting to protect her by repressing something vile that she cannot quite pinpoint anymore. Nevertheless, she can easily recollect the feeling of horror she’d felt that entire summer and that was something that was not easily dismissed from her memory. Sonia would have believed people would never forget such a thing and not roam about so freely— almost recklessly when it was impossible to determine if this monster would rear its ugly head once more. There was no such thing as _too_ safe in Derry, Maine and Sonia lived and breathed by that. 

Sonia made it a point to spend as much time inside as humanly possible. There was no reason to risk herself for potential harm or illness that could be lurking about this twisted place she’d yet to move away from. While Derry had an abundance of faults, it was surely better than following her sister who had dumbly gone off to New Jersey— far too close to the bacteria ridden hellhole that was New York City. Sonia was not certain she even _wanted_ to leave. Moving companies were not trustworthy in the slightest and the idea of burly, sweaty men with hands that may have not been properly washed for the recommended minimum of twenty seconds was enough to send chills rattling down her spine. 

Her job, a desk job as an insurance agent was the only thing that brought her out of her small one bedroom apartment (which of course was on the third floor as the first and second were far too risky for her to inhabit). It was dull work, even _she_ had to admit that— incredibly mind numbing and tedious at best. However, it was safe and yielded minimal consequences to her health and that mattered above all. She does, however, sometimes wish there was something a little more _intriguing_ about her job that made all the numbers and all the phone calls made on her desk phone (that she doused in clorox between each call) just a little more interesting. Sonia valued safety and sometimes that meant living a dull existence, but admittedly even she yearned for a spark in her gloomy, worry-driven days.

Her spark came in the form of a man, about her age with a gentle smile and soft brown eyes. 

Working in insurance sometimes meant meeting with business executives or their lower down employees (if the big men were too lazy or uppity to see her themselves) to discuss health plans and workers’ comp for their employees which is as exciting as it sounds. She wasn’t particularly fond of most of the businessmen she’d encountered in this town— they were all rather dismissive, condescending, and aimed to offer their workers the bare minimum. Sonia was not one for handouts in the slightest, however, when it came to healthcare and policies, she firmly believed that was not something anyone should skimp on. 

Today, she had an appointment with someone from HR in a large-scale car dealership just between Derry and Bangor to discuss their potential changes in their current health policy for the _next_ year. Or at least she is _supposed_ to have an appointment with the individual, Mr. Kas-something, who was more than ten minutes late and had failed to notify her of any schedule changes on his end. Sonia was one that always had a firm schedule and despised any amount of tardiness. Each time the minute hand of the wall clock circled around the numbers and the hands crept away past the times of her scheduled appointments, she could physically feel her nerves grating inside of her. As she sat there, her time wasting before her eyes, she curled her hands into tight fists around her ballpoint pen that she tapped rapidly over the stack of papers she’d kindly prepared for the missing fellow she’d spoken to earlier. She felt sweat beading over her upper lip which curled involuntarily with anger and frustration. This was absolutely ridiculous.

She huffed out a breath, and wiped the phone down with a clorox wipe, about to call her boss and inform him that her 3o’clock had failed to show when suddenly she heard rapid knocking at the door.

“Come in,” she ordered, hand still firmly placed on the device and eyes narrowing as the door squeaked open to reveal a sheepish looking man with perfectly coiffed hair and a suit that looked as if it had been neatly pressed but was now just starting to wrinkle with the motions of the man’s lithe body. 

“I’m _so_ sorry for being late. This never happens to me but as I was pulling out, I must’ve gone over a nail or something and I technically could have made it over here as the tires are designed to withstand about a hundred miles of rotation with any type of trauma but I didn’t think it was worth the risk so I had to go and get it changed and I would have called but it totally slipped my mind and I—”

“It’s okay.” Sonia says, halting the handsome man’s nearly incomprehensible spitfire spiel, much to the surprise to even herself. She valued her time and there was nothing wrong with that. She, even as someone who was not a higher up employee, deserved the same amount of respect as the CEOs and all the big shots and maybe that came off as _bold_ to some, but to her, was just basic human decency. Him being late should bother her— it normally would. But something about his voice and the anxious aura he put off in waves held a level of sincerity she rarely saw from any of the people she was used to encountering in this line of work. 

He blinks in surprise. His eyes are big and take up most of his thin, angular face. A small smile dimples his cheeks and he approaches her desk less nervously and holds out a hand to her. “I’ve forgotten my manners,” he chuckles, “I’m Frank Kaspbrak and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Atkinson, yes?”

“Yes and the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Kaspbrak.” She takes his hand and gives it a gentle shake, and gestures toward the chair just before her, “Take a seat here and do please call me Sonia.” She’s _never_ let anyone since starting her job call her by her first name.

“Only if you call me Frank.” He chuckles, setting his briefcase next to the chair as she makes himself comfortable. 

“I can definitely do that.” She sits up straighter, removing the paperclip from the stack of papers she had prepared for him.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” He asks feebly, eyes a deep brown, kind and wide with uncertainty.

“Oh, there’s no need.” Sonia insists when normally she’d be barking mad by now. “That was all out of your control and I’d rather you get it fixed then risk your life on the road with a damaged tire.” 

“How about dinner sometime?” He bravely suggests.

Sonia Kaspbrak _despises_ eating at public restaurants. She cannot trust those making minimum wage to properly handle her food. Even the door handles of such places are most certainly riddled with all kinds of bacteria that could have her bedridden and near death so she tells this handsome Kaspbrak fellow, “I would love that.” 

“It’s a date.” Frank declares with a grin.

It’s then that Sonia realizes that she never sanitized her hands after shaking his. 

xXx

**April 1973**

Choosing to marry Frank Kaspbrak was an easy decision and perhaps the best one Sonia Atki— _Kaspbrak_ has ever made in her life, she ponders to herself as she watches her husband with sheer adoration as he hums a tune she cannot quite pinpoint the origin of, whilst painting the walls of the living room of the home, an older one in desperate need of some TLC that they’ve just finally moved into after a year of an incredibly happy marriage. Sure, the two had some rocky moments as they were each hosts of some juxtaposing personality traits. Frank was more excitable, easy going, and brave where she was fastidious, cautious (overly so if you asked Frank), and a _bit_ snippy if she _had_ to admit it. It was not uncommon for them to have petty disagreements but even so, they loved each other unconditionally and brought out the best in one another. 

Sonia would have been perfectly content remaining in her apartment with Frank as opposed to draining their collective savings into purchasing a dated house that she personally doubted was fully up to code and required a ton of maintenance work. The apartment they’d previously inhabited together was perfectly suited to their needs as a couple but they both knew it was not _nearly_ enough room for both them and the baby they currently had on the way. 

To say she was thrilled would have been an understatement. Sonia had been convinced she could not even get pregnant. She did struggle with her weight and fertility issues were quite prevalent among most of the women in her family. Additionally, Frank had been informed that he had an extremely low sperm count for someone his age and the chances of him _not_ shooting blanks were incredibly slim. The odds were certainly never stacked in their favor and she and Frank, after trying several times after their blessed wedding day, were just starting to accept that they would never have a child and while they were disappointed, they were beginning to become content with such a possibility. 

But after a wellness check (which she definitely scheduled too many of), it was discovered that she was about eleven weeks along and maybe checking with three other doctors after her primary care physician printed out the ultrasound was a tad excessive, but Sonia did not want to give herself nor her husband any false hope. Once she was certain that she would indeed be having a baby, Sonia felt a euphoric sensation in the pit of her chest that she’d never once experienced in her entire life and it was one she never wanted to let go of. Sure, she was rather frightened to raise a child here in Derry what with the horrors she experienced in ‘62 and of course the prospect of sending them off to school one day where they be exposed to a plethora of germs terrified her, but it was something she, with Frank’s support, would gladly overcome with proper cautionary measures of course.

“It’s a little streaky.” Frank admits, stepping back and observing the wall he’s just completed with a bashful smile. 

Sonia looks over, pulling a mask over her nose and keeping her distance so as to not expose herself (and transitively the baby) to the paint fumes. A _little_ streaky is definitely being kind and erupts a fit of mild laughter to slip past her lips. 

“Ah, come on, I tried.” Frank groans, narrow shoulders slumping dramatically.

“It’s perfect!” Sonia insists. “I mean it will be covered by endless pictures of our baby girl anyway.”

His deep brown eyes twinkle at that, walking over to her and wrapping his arms around her loosely. “I can’t wait.” He murmurs into her mess of frizzy hair that she rarely ever tames when lounging around the house. 

“Me neither.” She sighs contentedly.

xXx

**June 1973**

They don’t have to wait. Sonia goes into premature labor and there is no stopping it. She delivers a tiny, blue faced baby girl into a delivery room that _should_ be filled with the loud wails of her and Frank’s baby but is instead filled with eerie silence that is only broken with her own hiccupping sobs as she clutches onto her husband while an ashen-faced and overly apologetic young nurse takes away their baby. 

xXx

**March 1976**

Sonia had fallen into a gut wrenching depression after the loss of little Julie Kaspbrak— a name they _had_ to decide upon just hours after her death for it was either that or simply writing ‘ _Baby Girl Kaspbrak_ ’ on the death certificate and the tombstone that Sonia had only ever visited once as it hurt too much to remember the excruciating pain of that dreadful day. She felt heavy and tormented herself by reading an abundance of textbooks on pregnancy and everything that could go wrong. She knew (with Frank’s constant reassurance) that it was nothing she’d done but she just needed to figure out a singular reason as to why she’d lost her baby girl. There was no solid answer anyone could find and that state of unknowing was crushing in a way that few mothers (and Sonia did not even know if she could even call herself a mother for she had no _living_ child to reward her that title) could truly understand. 

It took a long while to get out of that place and maybe a piece of her was still there as life felt more dangerous and daunting than it had before and that spoke volumes for someone like herself. She felt the chronic worrisome nature she’d _always_ had, growing exponentially after she found it in herself to no longer lay in bed weeping into an overstuffed pillow. Everything was a risk and it didn’t just stop at the excessive research pertaining to pregnancy for her. 

She immersed herself in the library (sanitizing each book she read through), enhanced her knowledge (and her paranoia) with all things medical related. She could alphabetically list just about all the types of ghastly diseases and deadly infections one could get from a simple papercut. She read about every single type of cancer and the grueling details of what these unnecessary cells did as they multiplied and essentially drained a body from the inside out. She learned how one could contract just about anything ranging from a meager cold to a flesh-eating virus by simply touching a telephone. 

There was no way of escaping all of the bacteria and germs that filtered the very air she breathed each day but she could potentially minimize the risk of contracting such vile illnesses by upping her defenses in the forms of cleaners that assaulted the nostrils of anyone that breathed in the harsh chemicals (which too posed as a danger but was something she could protect herself against in the form of the surgical grade masks she’d purchased from Keene’s Pharmacy). There was a touch of irrational thinking in her worry and she was aware of that. Losing a child was an unfathomable anguish and deep down, Sonia knew it had permanently corrupted her logical (if it ever had been logical) stream of thought.

Frank knew this too and he too suffered immensely after losing their child; just perhaps in a less intense way that she had (and obviously continued to). He, bless his heart, accomodated her accordingly. He did attempt to assuage her fears by offering his more level-headed and objective perspective of things and occasionally she would listen and instances where she could not or would not, he granted her his insurmountable support by meeting whatever needs she had and working around her fears to the best of his ability. 

Her paranoia and fixation on medicine and health and not necessarily helpful information but simply gruesome details pertaining to such matters was a touchy subject for them after the loss of their child and she knew Frank hoped that maybe they could make it go away. He firmly believed she would find some relief if they could just have another shot at having a baby and maybe these fears fueled by an incurable sadness would dissipate by them having a child but after several failed attempts, too many false positives, and a menstrual cycle that was becoming increasingly more irregular with the ticking of her biological clock, she had lost hope in the idea that she would ever have the chance to have a baby again. 

This hopelessness steadily evolved into bitterness as she saw mothers swollen with babies that would enter the world most likely screeching loudly; a beautiful sound that indicated healthy and functioning lungs— so very much unlike the ones in her Julie that did not inflate in the slightest upon entrance into the world. She felt a raging jealousy when she saw mothers with their babies and toddlers in strollers as they wandered the streets, dumbly exposing them to the germs of the Derry townspeople that could easily cut the life of their child (that they were so lucky to be able to hold) far too short. If Sonia said she didn’t want to punch her dentist, Dr. Tozier, who was a charming but also reckless man, in the mouth when he had his hands in her mouth, rendering her unable to speak and he’d started babbling away about his newborn son, Richard (which was a strange name to pick after Watergate) well... she’d be lying.

She wanted what they had so desperately and she knew she’d be infinitely more careful than the heedless mothers that let their children indulge in sugary sweets or suck on grimy pacifiers. She would produce a protective environment that while she permitted exploration and an opportunity to learn about the world, she would ensure it was safe, secure, and composed of minimal health risks. 

Sonia Kaspbrak would make a wonderful mother and right now as she sat in a doctor’s office, awaiting for results on her bloodwork to determine why she’d not had a period since January, she hoped the reason was a chance to prove that she could be a better mom than the idiot ones she’s seen in this godforsaken town and not simply early onset menopause. Frank stood across the room, offering a tender smile but saying no words. He’d exhausted himself of every possible encouragement that they could possibly have _this_ ever since their first attempt after Julie’s death. All he could do now was simply be there during these appointments (which often ended in disappointment and a silent drive home), and for that she was eternally grateful.

The silence ended with the loud squeak of the door. Sonia wondered if it was loose on its hinges and could possibly fall right off and crush someone. 

“Well, Mrs. Kaspbrak your hCG is high,” Frank stands up straighter at that. They know what that means but she’s not so easily enlivened as she knows a heightened hCG does not necessarily mean a _viable_ pregnancy and could actually be an ovarian germ cell tumor or a pregnancy that might just fail or end in miscarriage. “which suggests a high probability of pregnancy but I know your history and I know you like to be completely sure so we will prep you for an ultrasound to see if we can confirm anything.” The doctor says, clapping his hands together as if they’re planning something thrilling and not potentially subjecting she and her husband to yet another letdown. 

She knows the drill. She lays back, gown lifted and eyes focused on the screen that is supposed to show images of a blob that is supposedly a baby but for her, the last several visits, has shown absolutely nothing and she can’t truthfully say she’s expecting anything different this time either even with the results of her bloodwork being supposedly promising. Sonia doesn’t even flinch as the inhumanely cold gel is spilled upon her lower abdomen. Frank remains where he is, bouncing nervously on his heels as the doctor stares intently on the screen whilst moving the wand around.

Sonia feels her heart do an unwilling leap as he halts for a second, studying the screen. She curses herself for feeling anything resembling excitement— feelings like that just make the comedown infinitely worse. 

“I can have another colleague check but I think I can say, with one hundred percent confidence that you are indeed pregnant Mrs. Kaspbrak and by the looks of it, you are approximately two and a half months along.” His smile lines deepen as his lips curl up. “Congratulations.”

Frank lets out a choked sob and crosses the room to wrap his slender arms around her. He beams at her in a manner she only remembers seeing on their wedding day and the first time they (almost) had this. They’ve not heard from a single doctor that she was indeed pregnant since Julie. All she’s had are false at-home-test positives and doctors informing her that she was still not with the child she so desperately wanted more than anything. Of course she’s going to request for another doctor to confirm these findings but right now all she can focus on is the doctor’s voice explaining the risks at this stage (that she already knows in detail) and where they go from here (that she knows from an experience that was cut short).

Sonia has never been both so terrified and ecstatic in her life. As she succumbs to her own emotion, tears tracking her cheeks, she can only hope that she gets to _hear_ and hold this one.

xXx

**September 1976**

Edward Frank Kaspbrak was born loud and wriggly, early on the morning of September 3rd. The pregnancy had not been easy in the slightest and there had been a few scares with bleeding and braxton hicks that had started earlier than was deemed average. Sonia spent the entire pregnancy, for the most part, cooped up in the living room with Frank happily waiting on her hand and foot and calling doctors multiple (and perhaps far too many) times a day to ensure that each peculiar feeling and sudden twinges of pain was nothing to fret over. 

Typically, they were informed that everything was fine but there’d been a few instances where Sonia was admitted for a few nights to monitor everything and those nights were terrifying for they brought back ghastly memories to the forefront of her mind and had her fearing for this baby’s life. Sonia did not think she could possibly survive the aftermath of losing yet another child that she so desperately wanted to have.

The fear of loss completely left, though hurt for her daughter remained, as she got to _hear_ her baby and _feel_ life in her baby as he wiggled discontedly in the bundle of blankets he’d been swaddled in, not quite used to being subject to real world lights and sounds that were surely not kind to his fresh, foggy looking eyes that would definitely darken into the golden brown that Frank’s were for her blue eyes didn't stand a chance against his dominant genetics. She didn’t care though. He could have her frizzy hair and only one eye and could have the same gravely voice that her granddad had had and he would _still_ be completely and utterly perfect to her.

However, Sonia had immediate concerns as she focused on him a little more.

“I don’t think he’s breathing right, Frank.” She tells her husband as she listens to the gaspy sounds emitting from her baby’s soft lips. 

“He’s fine, Sonny.” Frank reassures, rubbing a hand on her exposed shoulder. “He’s not used to all this excitement right now.”

“What if he has asthma or one of his lungs didn’t develop entirely?” She arches her neck back to get a good look at him. “He’s awfully small. I think there’s something wrong, Frank.”

A frown deepens the lines in his forehead. “Sonia, he’s a perfectly healthy size and weight.” His voice is slow, even, and not at all demeaning or dismissive of her feelings. “There’s nothing wrong with him.” A soft chuckle. “He’s actually heavier than I was when I was born, the little chunk.”

“Get a doctor, Frank.” Sonia demands, looking down at her son. “I do _not_ like the sound of his breathing. It’s not… it’s not healthy. He’s sick Frank. My blood pressure was elevated the entire pregnancy and that can cause severe birth defects and negatively impact their health. We need someone in here _immediately_.” 

Frank opens his mouth to argue but he doesn’t have it in him to possibly argue with someone who has just performed the most exhausting task in human existence, so he doesn’t. He complies and leaves the room in search of someone who will tell her the exact same thing he just has. 

Sonia, meanwhile, strokes his soft cheek as worry surges in her veins. Her Edward is so small and delicate; a prone victim against the horrors the world holds. She will not let anything touch him, pain him, or ruin him. “I’ll always protect you, Eddie-bear.” She whispers fearfully, staring down at him, knowing she will do _anything_ whether he likes it or not, to ensure his safety. 

xXx

**May 1979**

Sonia’s husband, the only one that could ever ground her and protected her from falling victim to her incessant worries, the only one that made her feel safe and secure in a world that absolutely terrified her with the unknown harm and diseases that it carried, and the only one that prevented her from corrupting their son’s young and impressionable mind with her own fears, had cancer and said cancer was determined and relentless in its desire to spread diseased cells all throughout his body and eat her beloved husband from the inside out. 

He had already endured two rounds of chemotherapy after his initial diagnosis but it was to no avail as besides devolving her husband into a zombie-like state with the brutal side effects of his treatment, it did absolutely nothing. The cancer continued its rapid spread through his body, consuming every bit of healthy tissue in his entire system. They were left with no other option but to halt treatment and ensure that he would be as comfortable as possible while they awaited the inevitable: Frank Kaspbrak, her beloved husband and the father of her son, was going to die. 

She held his hand in hers, the sound of the monotonous beeping, the sound of his life ticking away before them, slowly fading into background noise the longer she sat there rubbing the outside of his hand with her thumb. She could remember shaking it for the first time and how for the first time she was not appalled by the skin to skin contact. She had not felt the need to sanitize her cracked hands with alcohol based hand sanitizer. His hands had been warm and soft in hers— her heart rate had immediately fluttered with their initial touch. Now, his hands were alabaster with collapsed veins from so many IVs, skeletal and bony; cool like the corpse he was to become once this sickness completed its ruthless job. 

His fluffy brown hair that had curled just a tad around the nape of his neck and around his ears, so soft to the touch (unlike her frizzy strands that he had always stroked as if they were made of silk), gone and left a bald head that was only just starting to sprout new hair growth now that his system was free of the chemo that failed to do its job. His hair would never get beyond the length of a slightly overgrown buzz cut for he would be gone before it got to grow much more. She would never again get the chance to move her fingers through his luscious locks again. Had she known that she would never get to see her husband with his signature coiffed hair again, she thinks she would have appreciated his hair a bit more by nestling her nose into the musky scented roots and admiring the aroma and touching it just a tad longer and memorizing the soft texture that tickled her fingers before they had shaved it. 

Frank was still the man she loved even with the physical changes— he always would be. However, hearing that he was sick, while devastating, was one thing. She knew he could die from the get go. That was perhaps the first thought that trickled into her persistently negative mind. It chilled her skin into forming goosebumps and burned her eyes with hot tears. 

Knowing he could die, had sent her into such a panic but it was nothing compared to what she felt _seeing_ this unfold. Watching him wither away before her eyes, his health betraying him with each passing moment, truly succumbing to the illness that left him in pure agony had tore something, perhaps the last remaining ounce of sanity she may have had, away from her. 

“You’ll bring Eddie next time, right?” He rasped, looking at her with tired brown eyes— no longer the warm and inviting ones that had enticed her nearly ten years ago. 

“I don’t know Frank.” She murmurs sadly. “Is it really a good idea to have him _here_ and seeing all of this?” 

“He’s not going to remember me, Sonny.” Frank informs her. She knows he’s right. Eddie isn’t even three years old yet and he won’t be when his father is gone either. “I just want to see him as much as possible before… you know.” 

Her throat feels swollen and she knows it’s because her body wants to evoke intense emotion in the form of hysteria and pathetic sobbing but she mustn’t let herself right now. She has to be brave right now. “There are so many germs in a hospital, Frank. What if Eddie gets sick and leaves me too?”

Frank exhales slowly. “Sonia, he’ll be fine. The staff does a wonderful job keeping my room clean,” he chuckles a pathetic sound, “and you do _even_ better.” A pleading expression ghosts his pallid features. “Please let me see him, Sonia. You’ve not brought him here since I was admitted.” 

She knows he deserves to see their boy before he goes and it’s been a topic of discussion through every visit but she cannot bring herself to do so anytime she comes. Each time she comes to see her husband, she thinks about it briefly; always preparing Eddie with a thorough bath, double knotting his tennis shoes, and explaining the situation in terms his young mind may be capable of comprehending. But then, like clockwork, a sudden sensation of horror always washes over her as she remembers the germs her son may have that could potentially shorten her husband’s life _even_ more lest he catch something or perhaps, her only son, could contract something in the waiting room and also leave her. So it ends the same each time: she calls for a babysitter (with the proper background and not just some pathetic teen girl trying to make a quick buck) and begs of them to please watch her boy for the upteenth time.

Frank deserves to see their boy one last time before he passes as peacefully as one can in a hospital. Eddie deserves to see his father one last time before he’s gone even if Eddie won’t remember the experience. He deserves to at least be near him even for just a moment before he’s gone from this world too soon. 

“Okay, Frank.” Sonia sniffles pathetically. “I’ll bring him this weekend. I promise.”

xXx

Sonia can tell that Eddie has a vague understanding of the situation. He knows that his daddy is sick and will not be coming home again. He seems to grasp that this makes his mommy very sad and he too has expressed some sadness and has, on several occasions, toddled to her, tears rolling down his fat little cheeks and whimpering to see his daddy again as he most obviously misses him desperately. 

Right now, he is not expressing such sadness as he messily eats the precisely cut green beans and grilled chicken chunks she’s prepared (with all the proper food safety guidelines) for him. He occasionally babbles incomprehensible words to her, to which she merely smiles at and hums in acknowledgement. 

She observes him as he albeit sloppily, but still just as happily, feeds himself and she sees so much of her husband in this boy. He is his literal clone with the soft brown hair (that Frank will never have again), the large chocolate colored eyes that he will never fully grow into, and just his overall spunky attitude. He was always such a happy baby and continues to be as he enters toddlerhood. Like his father, he’s more carefree and lax about the world around him. Eddie was always smiling, curious, and was more than willing to run around on his unsteady legs and risk scraping his knee open and exposing it to an abundance of infectious bacteria that would surely seep in if she wasn’t on the sidelines, ready to disinfect it. He didn’t seem to care about all the possible dangers around him the way she did. He just wanted to explore and be happy as his father is— soon to be, as his father _was._

She was thankful that Eddie not only looked like his father as opposed to taking on her less than aesthetically pleasing experience, but that he was like him in regards to his personality. 

“Nummy.” Eddie declares after finishing his dinner and raising his arms to be picked up so he could play with some of his toys for a bit before bedtime. He knew the routine quite well at this point. 

She chuckles a bit at that, easing him out of the height chair that he is rapidly growing too big for. She runs the water just a bit above a lukewarm temperature and rubs some antibacterial hand soap around his chunky, ravioli-like fists. She lathers it for him, knowing he lacks the motor skills to properly cleanse his hands of the germs that lie in the crevices imprinted upon his soft palms. He is always mildly fussy as she keeps him from his precious toys so she can adequately clean him. 

However, he’s grown more accustomed to her routine hand washing and has stopped throwing tantrums as he used to each time he was mercilessly deprived of additional time with his brightly colored toys and merely huffs his annoyance whilst impatiently waiting for his time to play. Once she’s finished with him, she carries him into the living room where he eagerly escapes her arms and dumps out his toys and falls into his own blissful imagination. 

She smiles kindly at him, her heart that has been battered in watching her husband near his end, always feels warmed as she watches the jovial nature of her little boy. He spittles slightly while screeching in joy and she thinks he is so goofy and carefree as he shoves the back end of his favorite toy car (a miniature version of the white ‘53 Corvette Frank always wanted) into his mouth. So like his father and that _terrifies_ her she realizes. There are so many germs on that toy car and her Eddie Bear is too much like the man that is now dying in a hospital. 

Genetically, Eddie doomed. Cancer runs in Frank’s family and it runs in hers as well. She should have seen this coming. Her Eddie, so little, so delicate, would easily fall victim to the illnesses written into his DNA. The human body was already so fragile and pathetic and she knew Eddie’s was even _more_ weak than the average person. He, despite the incessant reassurances at wellness checks of him being healthy, was clearly a sickly little boy. Maybe it wasn’t visible _yet,_ but it was inevitable. She could see the sickness in him; waiting to fester up into something vile like the cancer currently overtaking his father. Couldn’t anyone see that he had a family history of ill health and it was just a matter of time before his body surrendered to the weaknesses waiting to rip her son away from her? She would _not_ lose him. She had to protect him. 

“Eddie, no!” She snaps, batting the car away from his prone mouth. He’s probably already ingested something infectious. She picks him up and he releases a disgruntled squawk. 

“No, mommy!” He arches his back against her, wanting desperately to play with his toys but there is no time. She needs to brush his teeth and teach him how to gargle the alcohol-based mouthwash she keeps in the master bath. Sure, the alcohol may burn his little mouth, but there is no way the bubblegum flavored shit will do anything to eradicate all the bacteria infesting his mouth. 

“Eddie you’re going to get sick and end up like daddy!” She snaps and he doesn’t understand what she means most likely but ‘ _sick’_ and ‘ _daddy_ ’ are both terms he is quite familiar with. 

His face falls, lip wobbling as she sets him on the counter. She doesn’t hesitate, already coating his toothbrush with a slightly-more-than-recommended-for-a-toddler amount of toothpaste and shoving it perhaps not gently enough if the whine he lets out is any indication but she doesn't care. He could already be falling victim to an illness if she doesn’t scrub away the viruses multiplying upon his tongue and in between his little teeth. She pours mouthwash and instructs him to swish it around and to spit it out when she says, not any sooner. He immediately starts sputtering the moment he sips at the minty liquid, surely feeling the intense burn of the alcohol that is not appropriate for the mouth of such a young tyke but she needs him to have it to ensure that all germs are properly swished away. 

She squeezes his bicep perhaps a bit too hard and she halts for she doesn’t want to break his frail bones. “Eddie you have to. You could get pneumonia and die if you don’t.” He won’t know what pneumonia is right now. She knows that. But he knows vaguely that _‘die’_ is not something he wants right now and with that understanding in conjunction with her panicked tone that lights his own anxieties aflame, he complies with her demands and endures the pain it causes his mouth by weakly swishing it around. 

“Spit.” She tells him and he does, looking up at her with teary eyes. She wipes at his eyes. “Mama just wants you to be safe, okay? No more putting cars in your mouth, baby.”

He nods his head slowly, lips still pulled into a deep frown. He’ll understand one day. She will make sure that he does. She will not let him put himself on the battlegrounds of infection and disease. She will protect him as much as she can from falling victim to his own frail body that could _never_ stand up against any form of infection. Her delicate Eddie is too like Frank and she will not let him leave her too. 

xXx

**July 1979**

Hospitals pose too much of a risk for her Eddie-bear outside of his own appointments so she never does take him to see his father and Frank, despite his incessant plees, never gets to see his son again. He dies yearning for the warm feeling of his growing son snuggled in his arms. Sonia, heartbroken and devastated as she watches him take his last stuttering breath cannot regret this decision. She knows she did the right thing keeping them apart.

She knows it’s better if Eddie has minimal memory of his father. He should just know that his father was sick and he too could become just as sick if he does not listen to her. She knows best and is the only caretaker Eddie will ever need to _really_ know until he finds a new one in the form of a future wife one day. Until such a day, _she_ is all her son really needs. 

xXx

**February 1981**

“You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about!” Sonia screams in the doctor’s petrified looking face, yanking her trembling son behind her to protect him from the incompetence of this supposed medical profesional. “My son _is_ sick and you’re just going to do _nothing?_ ”

“Mama, that hurts.” Eddie complains meekly. 

“Mrs. Kaspbrak,” The doctor starts, shaking his head in disbelief, uttering the surname Sonia had kept with no intentions of giving it up. They may not bring him up much in their life anymore for that is better for Eddie in her opinion but she doesn’t want to let him go— not entirely. “Eddie here is a perfectly healthy little boy. He’s a bit below average in terms of his height but that’s probably always going to be the case based on his genetics.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he dismissed her son’s obvious ailments like every other doctor before him. 

_Condescending bastard,_ Sonia thought to herself, lip curling into a snarl as rage burned through her veins.

“He’s fine now if you will, I can walk you ou—”

“How dare you?” She bellowed, her grip tightening around her son’s wrist.

“Mommy, you’re hurting me.” Eddie whimpers from behind her. She ignores his attempts to pull his wrist from her hold. He doesn’t understand that she has to keep him safe from this daft man that is content in letting her son roam the world without proper medication and treatment for the sicknesses that obviously weaken him more.

“My son _is_ sick! He needs treatment and you’re refusing to help him!” She roars, teeth clenched together so tightly that she thinks she may have lost a filling. “He is frequently short of breath and I know he’s got several allergies and his bones! They’re so weak and fragile! He needs treatment!” 

“Mrs. Kaspbrak, all of the allergy tests show that he has absolutely no allergies and his breathing is probably related to anxiety, based on the context you provided earlier.” He sighs, exasperated. “Eddie is fine. He may need a therapist perhaps given the anxiety and the loss of his fath—”

“Do _not_ bring up his father in front of him!” She seethes. “I require _nothing_ from someone as dismissive and idiotic as yourself. I will ensure that your medical license is revoked!” Her threat is hollow just as her heart has come to be since her husband’s passing. 

She yanks her son out of the examination room, storming out to the desk where she pays the copay and sweeps her son off the ground and onto her hip and out toward her car. 

“I’ll find you a better doctor, sweetie. Mommy promises.” She tells him as she buckles her son into his booster. She notices discoloration upon his tiny wrist where she’d held him perhaps too tight and cannot see herself to feel bad about the bruising. They are a mark of just how far she had been willing to protect her boy. 

He looks up at her with eyes that are too like someone she tries desperately to push away from her mind. “I feel okay, mama.” He tells her and her heart sinks. He has no idea how sick he really is. He is being brainwashed by these incompetent doctors. He cannot sense just how high risk and fragile he is. 

“You’re not, baby.” She whispers to him, her voice easily falling into a simpering tone. “You are sick just like your daddy was and y-you know what happened to daddy, don’t you?”

His eyes go downcast. He doesn’t know much about his father for they rarely bring him up as it’s not something she wants him pondering. Remembering his father may convince him that she is not enough for him but right now, he must recognize the severity of his ill health. “He died.” His lip quivers. “Am I going to die too?”

“You might.” She says. “Mommy just wants to protect you. You understand that, right?”

“Yes mommy.” Eddie nods his head in earnest. 

She smiles, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll figure something out. I promise.”

He beams innocently at her, trusting every venomous word that spills past her lips. 

xXx

Her Eddie bear is too naive. He doubts his sickness. He may not _feel_ it yet for he is so young but it exists in him, waiting to poison him and take him away from her. He’s not safe. She can’t let his mind be warped into thinking he is safe by those ignorant doctors. She has to do something about it and it is not something that can wait. He won’t believe her as he grows older and falls into his teens where he will inevitably rebel and have no regard for his well-being and her entire fight for him will be for naught. He will run around this town that still holds something ominous that she knows did not die back in ‘62; she senses it. He will get hurt. He will be ill. He will leave her. She has to do something, _anything_ to ensure that he realizes just how weak he is and how she knows best and will not fall victim to the same carefree nature her husband had possessed. 

It dawns upon as she sits upon her recliner, having finished her son’s nightly routine and tucking him away into his bed (which is safe and secure with the rails she’d installed to ensure he wouldn’t topple over and shatter his thin bones). She might not get him to _hear_ how sick he is from the lips of a dismissive doctor, but she can, she realizes as she stares at the plethora of evening multivitamins she has him take each night, _treat_ him for his illnesses or at least make it seem like she is so he can slowly start to believe the words she feeds him and perhaps he will begin to take his health more seriously and grow to be more cautious. 

Sonia is rather close with the primary pharmacist in this town. Mr. Keene has known her since she first moved to Derry as a child and Sonia knows she could easily persuade him into taking action in protecting her son. No doctor in Derry, given their lack of competence, will (rightfully) prescribe her son the medication she knows he will need one day, but for now, she knows Mr. Keene with some bribery on her end (and the money she would give to him would save her a lot in comparison to the noncompliant doctors) be willing to write out placebo prescriptions for him to take so he believes she has managed to find someone willing to treat the illnesses within him that no doctor will officially diagnose. 

It’s foolproof. Sure, he will never hear the words that he is sick (until perhaps it is too late) but he may finally realize that he needs to be careful in this gruesome world if he’s actively being treated for something. Sure this is probably a violation of some health code— a code that is undoubtedly absolute bullshit given Sonia’s experiences with the contemptuous nature of doctors— but if this is kept between just her and Mr. Keene, nothing can go wrong. 

This is her only option. Perhaps it is moderately drastic in nature, but she must protect her son. Eddie will never understand how weak and feeble he is nor will he be careful enough when faced with the dangers the real world has in store with him. She will not lose him and if lying to him protects him, well she’s more than willing to do it. Keeping her boy safe with her and making sure he never leaves her as Frank and Julie did, is more important than any amount of honesty or trust. 

xXx

**September 1981**

Sending Eddie to public school when she could very well teach him at home felt dishonorable in more ways than one. She was putting him into a minefield of germs and there was nothing she could do to stop it simply because she lacked a piece of paper that supposedly deemed one qualified for teaching. Sonia Kaspbrak knew some of the teachers at Derry Elementary and it was evident, to her, that it required little intellect for one to have the official ability to teach at that school. She was much smarter than most of them and definitely more competent to teach _her_ boy. They would not understand and protect him the way she did. 

They might fill his ideas with dangerous thoughts and ideas of recklessness; they may encourage him to take risks and to neglect his health. They may undo all the precautionary measures she’s instilled in him since he was young. They may allow him to forget the (placebo) medication she stuffed into a stylish fanny pack she secured around his little waist upon dropping him off. She’d been right about the sugar pills working. Eddie was thoroughly convinced about his ailments and often panicked when he took his medication even a _minute_ too late. But she would not be there to monitor him the way she was at home and the little watch she purchased for him may malfunction and not _beep_ loud enough for him to remember to take his pills. The entire public education system was designed to wreck all the hard work Sonia had put into ensuring her Eddie-bear was as safe as possible from the cruel and sick nature of the world. 

To make matters worse, Sonia had discovered that Richard Tozier, the son of drunkard and foolish mother, Margaret Tozier, was in her sweet little boy’s class. Some may call Sonia dramatic and judgemental but she could certainly read people and she knew that Tozier boy was _tainted_. He may very well corrupt her boy and she would not stand for that. 

She called every hour on the hour for the entire time Eddie was in school for his first day as she had no need to work for they lived off of Frank’s hefty life insurance, and perhaps that was excessive in the opinions of the incompetent staff that grew increasingly more annoyed with each call, but she _had_ to just to check in on her boy. 

But finally, after waiting a grueling seven hours, it was time to pick her boy up from the germ-infested school and get all the details of the maltreatment he endured to which _she_ would be the one to heal him from. She was the _only_ one that understood her Eddie and the only one that would ever be there for him. 

She definitely broke an abundance of traffic laws as she sped there with her focus being on Eddie and Eddie only. She got herself out of the car, sanitized her cracked hands and barely winced at the burn it caused upon her dry skin, and made her way to the front entrance. She would have expected her Eddieto be inside waiting for her, where it was safe, but instead she saw a terrifying sight of him in the _grass_ , playing with dandelions with two boys, one of which she recognized to be the Jewish Uris boy and the other to be the one friend she permitted him having as he came from a good enough family— the stuttering Denbrough boy. 

“Eddie-bear!” She gasped, darting over to him. 

“Hello!” The mother of the Jewish boy, Andrea, she thinks her name is, greets but she paid no mind. This was no time for pleasantries when her fragile boy was quite possibly on the verge of anaphylaxis! 

“Oh Eddie, your allergies! The grass is no good for you at all!” She sweeps him into her arms. He fights it a bit; the school is already _ruining_ him! “You _should_ not be playing out here like an animal!” 

“I, uh, it was nice to meet you?” The woman attempts but Sonia could care less. She flees the area, swinging Eddie’s bag over her shoulder while holding him close to her as she sprints back to their car.

Eddie keeps attempting to chime in that he is “okay,” which only serves to frighten her further. He has already been convinced by the dastardly faculty that he is somehow strong enough to take unnecessary risks. This will certainly not do!

“It’s okay Eddie-bear,” She tells him as she buckles him in, taking note of the red tinge to his nose which she immediately convinces herself is the start of a major allergic reaction (but is merely just a result of his skin being kissed by the sun and from absorbing some of the natural Vitamin D he rarely receives at home for he is frequently locked away from natural light in the confines of their prison-like home). “Mama is going to take care of you.”

“I’m okay, mommy.” Eddie says as she slides into the driver seat. 

“Oh Eddie, you’re delusional! You must be losing oxygen!”

“No!” He insists in a fierce voice that startles her and truthfully, _scares_ her. “I took my allergy medicine before I went outside so I’d be okay. I’m okay, mommy. I wouldn’t go outside without it just like you taught me.”

He believes the medicine is having the desired effect of protecting him from reacting severely to the allergies she believes will develop in him eventually. “Oh,” She breathes out. “Well, that’s very good Eddie. Mommy is very proud of you but you should still take a bath when we get home.” 

“And nap.” he emphasizes with a dramatic yawn. “That medicine makes me sleepy.” He says. Truly, he’s just exhausted from the tasking experience that is the first day of kindergarten. 

“That is a side effect, Eddie.” She agrees, pulling out of the school parking lot. “Did you have a good day today?”

“Yeah!” The sleepiness seems to abate and is immediately replaced with sheer joy as he begins blabbering about all the interesting stuff he did that day. She feels genuine happiness for her boy until he tells her about how close he has gotten to the Tozier brat. “And Richie was my buddy all day! I really like him and Bill but you already know Bill, oh and uh, Stan! But Richie is in my class and he might be one of my _bestest_ friends! He’s super funny but also kinda loud but it’s okay cause he was quiet when I telled him to be and he lemme put dandelions in his hair on the playground!” 

She feels her hands clenching around the steering wheel, turning her knuckles white as she imagines all the germs that boy could be giving to her boy and how Richard, so obviously corrupt in a way that Eddie wouldn’t understand but she could already see in his very presence, could _ruin_ her boy. 

“Hmm,” She acknowledges as she swallows the venomous words she’d rather reserve for Margaret for raising such a hooligan of a boy and for the staff for permitting her fragile boy to be around such a hurricane of a child. “Don’t you think you should be friends with other people instead, Eddie? Richard isn’t the kind of sweet little boys I’d like you to be friends with.”

His face falls in the rearview mirror. “What? But Richie was my bestest buddy today.” He defends. 

“You can find new bestest buddies, Eddie-bear! Wouldn’t you like that?” She beams at him from the mirror where she feels a surge of something that could quite possibly be guilt as she sees the wetness forming in his large eyes. 

“No.” He shakes his head, hiccupping sadly. “Richie was the only one in my class that didn’t make fun of me and my medicine.” He looks down, shame written across his soft features. “He’s really nice mommy and I like him lots.”

Something curls in her gut and she shouldn’t indulge this. She should put an end to it but something, perhaps a piece of Frank that resides deep (seventh layer deep) within her, softens the harshness in her present demeanor. “He makes you happy?” She asks.

“Yeah!” He lightens a bit, wriggling excitedly in his booster. 

She sighs. “Well I guess you have some really good friends now but that doesn’t mean to not be careful around them. Alright, Eddie?”

He nods earnestly. “Yes, mommy!”

She supposes giving him a little length on the very short leash she holds on him cannot bear too many negative consequences. 

xXx

**June 1988**

Even though she was not particularly fond of Eddie’s choice of friends, Sonia grew somewhat lenient as the years passed in permitting Eddie to spend ample time with Stanley, William, and Richard. Eddie always took his medication with him when he was out and had even started carrying around a second fanny pack filled with first aid materials lest something go south whilst running around with such hooligans. He always promised to be safe and always made sure to give her a kiss goodbye before darting out the door to (what she hoped was) safe, risk-free fun.

She had to let him be around them. They made her Eddie-bear happy and while his safety meant more to her than his subjective happiness, she did enjoy the bubbly attitude and glow he always possessed when he returned home after spending an entire day or having a sleepover with his three bestest friends. She presently saw no legitimate reason to keep him away from his friends. They were, admittedly on thin ice and had been since that first day of kindergarten. She had moments where her son came home with dirt under his well manicured nails or cuts and scrapes that just _had_ to be infested with bacteria waiting to evolve into some deadly infection, where she wanted to deem him done _,_ entirely _done_ with those boys. However, such a day had yet to occur and she begrudgingly permitted him to maintain his relationships. 

What she hated doing most, however, was allowing her son to spend nights over at their houses— specifically allowing him to spend nights at the Tozier house as he had last night. Spending an entire day with friends was one thing. She would get to see him at nightfall and _watch_ him take all of his medication, feed him a nutritious meal of foods she approved of, and she would know that he gave himself a thorough bath or shower to cleanse himself from the layer of Derry grime that accumulated upon his skin during his time outside. But with sleepovers, she could only hope he actually followed his medicine regime, stuck to his normal diet, and took the liberty of cleaning himself. She did always remind the parents of how delicate her boy was and how essential it was that he stuck to his normal routine and they seemed to acknowledge it but some of them, particularly Margaret Tozier, appeared rather dismissive in nature pertaining to Eddie’s various needs. 

She knew Eddie probably had the most fun when he went to Richard’s house and it showed in how excitable he was following the visits. But she couldn’t help but also notice a glimmer of something that darkly resembled rebellion and her Eddie-bear always seemed to become somewhat more forgetful of his sicknesses after he spent time with that dastardly family. He almost seemed to think he was _healthy_ after spending the night at the Toziers and it took her producing fraudulent tears and whimpering over his late father or the sister that he only knew of in the form of his mother’s manipulation tactics, for hours in order for him to submit once more and recognize that he had disease living in him. So many diseases waiting to awaken and destroy his entire system and take him away from her. 

She had to deal with it though. He enjoyed his time there and she would just have to suck it up for the time being and just ensure that she simply enforced more rigidity with her rules at home in order to compensate for the disdainful nature that surely occurred when he was out and about with his unfortunate set of friends or staying the night with their ignorant families. 

Her Eddie-bear was due to be dropped off any minute now by Wentworth Tozier who is a moderately respectable parent in her opinion. Wentworth was definitely rather dimwitted and oblivious but not so idiotic and overly permissive as his drunk of a wife, Margaret, was. He had managed (somehow) to talk her into allowing them to take her boy to the Derry Canal Days to ride some of certainly not up to code rides and pet some of the definitely flea-infested farm animals from the Hanlon family— a family that she was not fond of in the slightest given the fact that she _knew_ the parents of the boy, Michael had got themselves killed in some meth lab explosion. Good riddance. But the fact that that family was even _allowed_ to bring their animals to the public? A disgrace. 

Sonia had been riddled with panic all night as she envisioned her son parading around that petri dish of bacteria that was disguised to be a fair; exposing himself to a plethora of risks ranging from the illnesses he may acquire from those mangy animals to the bumpy terrain he may trip over to the rust bucket rides that could likely collapse upon his small, fragile body. She knew he would have fun and Wentworth had stressed that they would look after her boy and she wasn’t sure she necessarily believed that but she knew how badly Eddie wanted to go with Richard so she had permitted this excursion. 

She had prepared herself for him to return in a not so decent state by restocking their first aid kit (which honestly contained more supplies than the average ambulance) and scouring out the shower and ensuring he had a new bottle of anti bacterial shower gel and a freshly laundered wash cloth so he could cleanse himself from the germs that not only riddled the Derry Canal Days venue but the Tozier house as well. 

She heard the door knock and she bustled to the door to greet her Eddie-bear and Wentworth Tozier who had courteously walked him up to the door. She noticed her son’s hair was wet, suggesting that he’d taken a shower at their place—undoubtedly with soaps that probably irritated his sensitive skin. 

“He shouldn’t be outside with wet hair. That’s just asking for him to get sick!” She snaps as she snatches his overnight bag and urges him inside. It is already incredibly warm outside for a June morning and no one with wet hair is at risk for acquiring any such illness but her twisted mind refuses to produce such rational thought patterns. 

Wentworth’s gentle expression does not shift in the slightest. “The boys had a lot of fun last night and we were really glad to have him with us. Always a pleasure.” 

“Did he take his medication?” She demands.

“Yes, mommy. My watch reminded me.” Her son tells her but she ignores him. 

“Yes, Sonia.” Wentworth nods. 

“Hmmph.” She purses her lips. “Thank you for bringing him back home.”

“Not a problem at all. We love having him.” Went says.

“Goodbye.” She ushers Eddie inside and barely hears the other man bid his own farewells as she slams the door shut, encasing her son in their poorly lit (prison-like) home. 

“I had so much fun, mommy!” Eddie squeals. 

She roughly grabs him and begins inspecting his body for any injuries that Wentworth failed to tell her. She nearly loses her shit over the faint discoloration on his elbow only to realize it was merely her own shadow cast upon his skin. “Are you hurt, Eddie-bear?”

“No.” He tells her.

“Go take a shower, Eddie-bear.” She tells him, opening his bag to wash his clothes and bleach the living hell out of his toiletries. Lord only knows what revolting surfaces they’ve touched in the Tozier house. 

“I already took one before I left, mama.” He whines and she feels rage burning in her gut. 

“Eddie you have been exposed to so many germs and I don’t want you to get sick!” She begs of him, falling into a weeping voice that is oh so phony. 

“Mama, I used the soap _you_ packed for me. I’m fine.” 

“But their bathroom is not nearly as clean as ours is Eddie-bear!” She moves to feel his head and he swats it away. 

“Okay, okay. I will.” He sighs dejectedly. 

Just as he’s about to leave she fingers through the bag and sees a stuffed turtle. Her heart sinks. He must have won the thing from the fair and who knows what kind of people have touched that thing and what sort of germs are crawling through the plush. 

“We have to dispose of this.” She declares, picking it up by the tail as if it were a decaying rat which it might as well be with how infested with bacteria it must be.

“No!” Eddie demands— a fire in his voice that only comes after spending time with the Tozier family. They are truly set on ruining her boy and corrupting his mind with ideas that he is invincible and won’t get hurt in this world. They don’t care enough about their bastard child to protect him but she will not stand for them trying to lead her precious little Eddie down the same path. 

“Eddie-bear, this thing is crawling with germs.”

“Mommy, no! That’s Tozbrak and he’s mine and Richie’s!” He pleads. “If I throw him away, Richie will be really upset. He can go back over to his house but we _can’t_ throw him away. Please!” 

“But Eddie—”

“Please let me keep him! Just wash him but please wash him on a gentle cycle so he doesn’t lose an eye. I don’t want to get rid of him. Richie would be really sad.” His breathing hitches and he reaches for his inhaler, taking a quick puff, followed by a second. She softens at that.

“Alright.” She agrees not wanting to further upset him. “You get in the shower and afterward would you like to watch some TV with me, sweetie?”

“Yes, mommy.” He nods and heads toward the steps. 

Once she hears the sound of the shower running she dumps his clothes and the stupid stuffed frog into the wash and as requested by her son, starts a gentle cycle even though she knows that will not give it the deep cleaning his things need but she supposes she can let her guard down just for now— for him. She then fills a bucket with a cleaning solution and soaks his toiletries in the liquid to hopefully rid them of whatever infection the Toziers carry around their home.

Once the load is running and the toiletries soaking, she moves to the living room and settles herself in her comfortable armchair set close to the television and turns on _The Price is Right_. She gets through the rest of this episode when Eddie comes down, wearing pajamas as he already knows that she will not be letting him leave the house today after spending the night at her least favorite one of his friend’s house. He sets himself up on the couch, snuggling up in a ball, quietly waiting for the next episode. 

The two are quiet for a bit until finally, Eddie speaks up after a newlywed couple is selected to play the game.

“Mommy?” He interrupts sheepishly. “Can I ask you a question?” There is a subtle seriousness in his voice and she knows she needs to give him her undivided attention right now.

“Of course, Eddie-bear.” She grabs the remote and turns the volume down and turns her chair to face her son. “What is it?”

“How do you know you’re in love?” He asks and that was not what she was expecting. She supposes it’s a reasonable question to ask given the married contestants that were just selected for the game but she had no idea his mind was already contemplating such ideas so young. “I know we don’t talk about him,” she clenches her jaw as she has told him time and time again not to bring up his father because she sees it as him merely implying that _she_ isn’t enough for him, “but how did you know you were in love and wanted to marry daddy?”

“That’s a complicated question, Eddie-bear.” She tells him, pushing the flare of anger to the back of her mind. He’s curious and she shouldn’t fault that no matter how badly she wants to. “I suppose you just kind of _know_ when someone is right.” It’s a loaded answer and she is more than aware of that but she believes it’s adequate enough for her son at this age, for what can he possibly know about love? “You will know when you’re in love one day Eddie-bear and I’m sure you’ll marry a _beautiful_ girl who will take such very good care of you like your mommy does.”

His brow furrows some. “But what if I want to marry a _boy_?”

Her heart skips a beat at that and a violent rage pulses in her chest. “ _What?_ ” She knows where such ideas have come from. That fucking Tozier boy. Sure he’s a child like her boy but she knew he was marked with filth somehow and it makes sense. The Tozier boy is a filthy faggot and he’s definitely in _love_ with her boy—anyone with eyes could see that— and is attempting to entice him and brainwash her sweet little Eddie into becoming just as sick and disgusting as he is. She will _not_ stand for that. 

“What if I fall in love with a boy and want to marry him?” He repeats. 

“Eddie, a boy who loves boys is a very, very sick boy. Sicker than you.” She seethes. “A boy who likes boys is as good as a _dead_ boy.” 

His mouth falls open in shock. “B-but why?” 

“Boys like that, _homosexuals,_ ” she spits the word like venom, “have a disease running through their blood. It’s called AIDs and it’s… it’s a gay cancer, Eddie. It’s something they _all_ have. It kills you!” She shakes her head, willing fake tears to stream down her face. “I have a friend, Eddie-bear,” she whimpers pathetically and feels a taste of satisfaction when he seems to sink in on himself as he realizes how _wrong_ his implications were, “who isn’t even sick like those homosexuals that have that vile illness and he got sick the way they _all_ are by touching a dirty pole in a subway and the AIDs blood got into his system all because he had a _hangnail. A hangnail!_ ”

His face has gone an ashy white and he says nothing. 

“You’d break my heart if I knew you were _that_ sick and going to die or infect _me._ ” She whimpers, wiping away at her crocodile tears. “You’re not sick like that, are you Eddie-bear?”

“No mommy. I’m not _that_ sick.” He murmurs.

xXx

**October 1988**

The rain in Derry had been torrential for the entire month thus far. They had barely gotten to enjoy the typically picturesque assortment of warm toned leaves that decorated each of the trees as they were almost all immediately blown off the branches by the winds of storms that powered through the entire town. It was horribly gloomy and made Sonia nervous for Eddie could catch his death in this weather or perhaps break his neck if he were to slip on the slick sidewalks. It also made her nervous because she could sense something eerie, something sinister in the air of Derry.

She could hardly catch any decent sleep as of late and she wasn’t sure why. She kept waking up feeling startled and drenched in a sweat that resulted in her cleaning her sheets just about every night. She assumed this was the result of nightmares but for some reason she could not remember what these terrors that jolted her awake far too early were even about. 

Sonia, admittedly lived each day in fear (primarily for her son and his well being) and she knew that was simply because her boy was weak and she had every right to be scared for him. However, this inability to have a grasp on what was arousing such intense fear out of her each and every night was so strange and something that was starting to unsettle her with each morning where she shot out of bed, a scream brimming upon her lips. She felt so terrified and unable to permit herself to return to the bliss of sleep upon waking but she had no idea _why_ and it was immensely frustrating. 

She removed herself from her bed after yet another abrupt waking. She had seen a pair of yellow eyes in this dream but it made absolutely no sense to her. Grumbling under her breath, she stripped her sheets for the upteenth time, feeling like a toddler that was just barely potty trained even though she was simply cleansing the soaked sheets of fear-induced sweat and not piss. She lugged them down the steps, careful to avoid the squeakier ones as to not disturb Eddie’s own rest before school. She tossed the load in and decided it was time for a shower.

She made her way to the bathroom, wincing internally at the circles beginning to form around her dull eyes. She removed her glasses, the world instantly losing focus and started running some cool water from the faucet. She started splashing her face with a few handfuls, hoping to wake herself up a bit before she got into the shower. She didn’t want to accidentally fall asleep in there and drown. As she reached for a hand towel to dab her eyes, she noticed in her hazy vision that there was a red mixture flowing down the sink. Her heart lurched.

She looked at her hands. They also had this red coat to them. She swallowed around a lump. With one hand, she reached for her glasses slowly, not removing her eyes from her other blurry, red-stained palm. She slipped them on and had to swallow a screech of terror as she realized it was blood dripping down her hands and into the sink. 

It was back.

It all came back to her— that summer when she was still so carefree and daring almost. It was her youthful, blase nature that caused her to be late that evening and had resulted in the gruesome death of the only friend she’d ever really had in her youth. It was her being lax that had resulted in the blood on her hands and the blood still was there; she was tainted forever after that. She could never be clean again. She had death on her and it’d taken Janice, Julie, and Frank. Eddie could be next. 

Body quaking with violent tremors, she stepped away from the sink, eyes unmoving from her stained hands. It wasn’t real. She clenched her eyes shut and willed it away. She opened them again. Her hands were clean— but were they ever clean; could Sonia Kaspbrak ever _really_ be clean again? It was okay. She couldn’t indulge these thoughts. No. She leveled her breathing and looked into the mirror. If she’d been pale before, she was positively translucent now. Written in blood across the mirror it read:

**Eddie will be home soon!**

She chokes on a scream as that creepy voice rushes back into her mind and she remembers what It had told her the day It had taken Janice right before her eyes: _“Oh, Sonny. I don’t want_ you! _I’ll have a piece of you someday in my home. Oh, yes! A piece of you will one day come here to be home and float with me forever!”_

It had wanted Eddie before she had even _thought_ of having Eddie. 

She stumbled away from it, shaking her head. _No_ . Her son would not be touched by the death she carried with her. She would not let him be taken from her. Never. Eddie was hers to keep— hers to protect. She would do anything. He could not be outside when the world was like _this_ . He would not be leaving her. No. He was _not_ going to school today or for the rest of this week for that matter. She did not care if he was already at the verge of exceeding his semester absence allowance. He was at risk and she intended to protect him at all costs even if it meant lying (even more) to him or potentially hurting him. 

xXx

Eddie is extremely confused as to why she decides to keep him home that week. She does end up slipping something that she managed to bribe Mr. Keene into giving her, in his chicken noodle soup that night, that does make him rather ill. Perhaps it’s drastic in the eyes of those who did not experience the horrors of Derry that she is all too familiar with. She knows she’s doing the right thing. She’s keeping him as close to her as humanly possible where It cannot possibly hurt him. 

She gets him excused from school for the rest of the week, claiming that Eddie was somehow exposed to a cashew (which she has on record that he’s _highly_ allergic to, though in reality he is not) and was too weak to come to school after such a severe allergic reaction. She did not believe it safe to explain the nature of his actual symptoms of cramping and nausea for it may be traced back to what she’d (rightfully, thank you very much) given her boy as a form of protection. 

She knows she made the right decision in poisoning (even if she did not see it as such an act) when she receives a distressing call the weekend following his absence. The call is from Zachary Denbrough. He tells her that their youngest, Georige, had been playing outside in this horrendous weather (which was poor parenting on their part) while Bill was sick in bed and has been missing ever since. He asks if she’s seen him. 

She cannot lie and she will not sugarcoat it even if he’s _just_ disappeared. “He’s not missing Zachary.” Sonia tells him. “He’s dead.” 

He pauses for a second, obviously taken aback by her words. “ _Fuck you, Sonia_.” He hisses, hanging up. 

She knows she’s right. She’s lived through this before. Georgie Denbrough is most definitely dead. Sonia knows he will not be the last kid to go missing but what she does know is she will _not_ let her Eddie be one of those missing kids. He will not be home at Neibolt. He will not float with the rest of the children It will inevitably take and feed upon. She will not allow it. She will protect him no matter what it takes. 

xXx

**April 1989**

If it had been up to Sonia, she would have removed Eddie Kaspbrak from the public school system but alas, she still could not formulate an adequate enough case that she was more than capable of teaching her son from home until he finished his education in high school because there was absolutely _no way_ she was going to let him go off to college. He had no reason to. They had plenty of money to live off on from Frank’s life insurance and what had been left over in his savings. Eddie did not need to go into some corrupt university that would brainwash him into thinking radical things and exposing him to the world of risks she had been protecting him against since he was born. 

He was stuck in that school, exposing himself regularly to an abundance of germs that could quite possibly overwhelm his fragile immune system and take him away. Additionally, he was stuck going to school where sometimes he elected to walk or bike home by himself which made him a prime target for It to attack him which was a very likely possibility. As winter’s death rose into the rebirth that was spring, with blooming trees and warmer air, children were more keen on being outside for longer hours and this in turn caused a steady increase in the amount of children going missing and the body parts being found across the town. Her fear and the number of missing children would only skyrocket once spring burned into summer. History was really repeating itself.

She’d gotten a bit more austere these last few months. She’d started lacing his food more often so she could keep him home. She let him go out with his friends but only if more than one was going to be present and she _never_ let him meet them there. They might not be on time and It could take her son in the minutes they could be late. She knew she was doing what was best for her boy. Her actions were keeping him alive. 

She would definitely feel more secure, however, if she could keep him home until all of this was over because she knew it would end, yes. The last time this had happened when she’d been seventeen, it all came to a halt once summer started fading away into autumn. But even when this was over, Sonia Kaspbrak really could not wait until Eddie was no longer required to attend school anymore and she could keep him home under her watchful eye until he married someone that like her, was only interested in protecting him from the dangers of the world. 

Everyday when she waits for him to come home is hell. She never knows what germs he’s exposed himself too and now that he’s older, he and his friends are adamant that they ride their bikes to school which she has only allowed since he always goes in a group and because the last time she drove him, the Higgins boy nearly t-boned her on Eddie’s side of the car. It was too risky to drive in a school zone with so many newly licensed teens about. She didn’t like the idea of him riding a bike with them around but she knew they always took shortcuts which while the rough terrain of those backroad paths concerned her, she could let it slide because it was better than him getting hit by a car on the main roads or him riding a germ infested school bus. 

Additionally, she never knows if he _will_ come home with It lurking about. However, the Tozier boy, while she dislikes him, _always_ bikes Eddie home before going to his own house. She was content with that. He was simply putting himself at a higher risk but she didn’t suspect it would be anything _too_ awful if Richard was taken away. 

Her nerves always begin to fray at this time of day. Eddie always comes home at the same time each day, discarding his bike in their garage and coming in through the front door and greeting her in the living room after washing his hands for a solid forty seconds. Today he is five minutes behind schedule and with each ticking minute her heart begins to race faster and the temptation to pick up the phone and declare him as a missing (dead) child grows exponentially. 

Ten minutes late. _Twenty minutes late._ She’s about to run to their landline but finally, the door creaks open and she hears his gentle “hi mommy” as he leaves his backpack by the front door and goes to wash his hands in the kitchen. She feels herself sink back into the comforts of her LA-Z-Boy as relief floods her system. He’s safe. He’s okay.

“Why are you so late, Eddie-bear?” She asks as he enters the living room and settles himself on the couch. 

“Oh, I had to get Richie’s homework for him.” He tells her. “I’ll have to go drop it off soon.”

“You will do _no_ such thing.” She says, narrowing her eyes at him. She feels rage and fear rise within her as she realizes the Tozier boy couldn’t even make himself useful today by bringing him home as he always does which means Eddie had biked home _alone_. He could have easily been taken! 

Eddie’s shoulders drop at that. “But mommy, I told his teachers I would.”

“It’s not your job to do that Eddie. It’s his drunk of a mother’s job to take care of that stuff if her boy has gotten himself sick.” She huffs. 

“He’s not sick. He had to go to the hospital because he had an allergic reaction at school.”

“Did you get exposed to anything?!” She gapes, getting out of her chair to inspect his face for any signs of a rash or swelling. 

He paws her hands away. “No!” He sinks on himself. “But I _do_ have to get a new Epipen.” 

“Why?” 

“Richie didn’t have his on him and I got scared for him so I tried to use mine b-but,” his face falls, “it didn’t work and he just wasn’t _breathing,_ mommy. It would have been all my fault if he had died.” 

She knows why it didn’t work. She’d gotten the trainer one relabeled from Keene to look like a legitimate one so Eddie would keep it on him in order to maintain the image that his allergies (which she knew existed in the depths of his system waiting to blossom and to take him away) were indeed deadly and severe. It had no needle or epinephrine in it to halt a real anaphylactic reaction as the Tozier boy had had today (most likely a result of his own carelessness). But she couldn't help but feel bad that her boy was riddled with this insubordinate amount of guilt for something that was not his fault. 

“It would not be your fault, sweetie. Richard’s mommy should be responsible like me to remind him to keep something like that on him at all times and have _extras_ on hand which we do! I’ll have to get you a new backup one but for now, there is one in the medicine cabinet in the kitchen”

Eddie’s brow furrows a bit at that. “Mrs. Tozier is very nice to m—”

“She might be nice Eddie but she doesn’t care about her little boy as much as I care about you. Remember that.” 

He looks uncertain and that’s crushing to her and triggers frustration within her. 

“Okay.” He says. “I’m gonna go upstairs and do my homework.” 

“Alright.” She sighs, turning her attention back to the television. “Get your new Epipen from the cabinet first, sweetie.”

“Yes, mommy.” His voice is emotionless as if he’s actually _hurt_ by her insulting Margarget Tozier. 

One day Eddie will understand that she is the only one capable of protecting him and that she means better than anyone else around him. Mothers that let their children roam freely and don’t have strict rules the way she does, are _not_ good mothers. They are allowing their children to make themselves as fresh bait for the predators that come in the form of injury, disease, and least commonly known, a murderous clown.

xXx

She is startled awake from a relaxant-induced nap by the shrill ring of the phone. She groans before removing herself from her chair and picks up the phone answering with her typical, “Sonia Kaspbrak speaking.”

“You’re something else, you know that, Sonia?” the other voice she recognizes to be no other than Margaret Tozier seethes. 

“Maggie?” She’s shocked. She cannot understand _why_ on earth that woman would be calling her with such a vile attitude. But then she remembers the fact that she’s going to have to call in yet another fake Epipen to pose as a backup for her boy just because Eddie _had_ to use his regular one on Richard as Maggie was too stupid to remember to give her son his own. 

Mr. Keene, while incredibly helpful in playing into Eddie’s ailments, was not cheap for maintaining his part of their little arrangement and that was just more money out the door that she really didn’t want to give out especially because Eddie had never had to “use” the Epipen before and now they’d have to get another one to hold onto this illusion. Her mind also trails to how defensive her son was when she merely stated the truth about Margaret’s incompetence as a mother. Her anger for this idiotic woman burns bright. 

“ _My_ son was forced to waste his EpiPen on your son all because he was too irresponsible to reme—”

“Cut the shit, Sonia.” Maggie snaps back. “That EpiPen was a fucking trainer pen and the _new_ one you gave him was one too.” 

How the hell does _she_ know that she already gave him a new one. “What are you—”

“The paramedics took the one Eddie used and I asked to see Eddie’s just now. You gave him a practice pen because you know he doesn’t need one because you’re _lying_ to him. You’re fucking lying to your son. You are _sick,_ Sonia.”

Sonia whips around to the front door and sees that Eddie’s sneakers are missing. He snuck out under her nose. Her heart skips a beat. This is the Tozier family’s fault. If it weren’t for their own negligence, her boy would not have felt obligated to leave to deliver Richard’s homework and would not be presently putting himself at risk for being taken away but the evil clown. 

And _sick?_ How dare that woman imply that _she_ is sick. Sonia knows all too much about sickness and what she does to her Eddie-bear is not sick. It is love. It protects him. If anyone is sick, it’s Maggie Tozier and her absolute disregard for her own son’s safety and wellbeing that has grown to such an intense level that it is poisoning the minds of the children (like her own Eddie-bear) who run around with her brat. 

“You had no right to take his. I could report you, you know.”

“I could report you to CPS. I think I will. Eddie deserves so much better than you. You’re holding him back and locking him away from his friends just because you’re sick in the head. You don’t deserve that boy.”

Her heart plummets. How dare _she?_ She deserves Eddie more than anyone else in the world. She’s the only one willing to go the extra mile to ensure his safety to the absolute maximum. She’s lost enough in this lifetime and she refuses to lose her Eddie-bear. She knows she could lose Eddie if her methods of protection get leaked for no one would ever be able to understand _why_ she has to do to him what she does. They would not understand that she only does it because she loves him because few people really love their child(ren) as much as she loves hers. 

She can play Maggie’s game. “Oh really?” She challenges, “You do that and I’ll be certain your flamer son never sees mine again.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Oh everyone knows your son is a faggot, Maggie. Richard is a dirty dirty boy. He’s more sick than her Eddie will ever be. Anyone can tell that he has eyes for _my_ boy, the little pervert. You’re—”

“Shut the fuck up, Sonia.” Maggie shrieks over the phone. “You have no right to say such wretched things about Richie. What kind of person are you?”

“A _good_ one. I know my son makes your little shit happy and I know your son and all those other brats make _my_ boy happy. I’ve been kind enough to let those friendships continue despite your son being _what_ he is, that mushmouth with the dead brother about to crack, and that one kid being from that Jew family. You report me and I’ll be certain the school knows what kind of boy your son is and to ensure that no matter what happens to Eddie, he is _never_ to be in contact with the likes of your boy or any of those freaks.” 

She knows how to play this game incredibly well. She is immensely manipulative and some may see that as a negative trait but how can it be when it gets you what you want and need? Margaret Tozier will not say a single thing. Eddie will be happy with his friends and her secret to keeping him protected will remain intact. She cannot possibly lose this battle. 

“You are _vile._ ” Maggie hisses and Sonia can hear the choking sound deep in her throat. A smirk puckers Sonia’s lips as she knows she’s won. “You are truly an awful mother, Sonia.” 

Sonia is anything but an awful mother. She is shielding her boy from anything and everything that could possibly endanger him no matter what it takes. Some as dense as Margaret Tozier could not quite possibly understand what it’s like to love a child so unconditionally as she does with Eddie. “I’m protecting him. In times like this, I’m doing him a favor. Goodbye Margaret.” 

She hung up, not caring to hear anything else from that daft woman. She levels her breathing, glancing at the front door and feels betrayed that her son would leave the house without her permission— after she had told him no. She’s going to have to buckle down harder on him even harder for she knows this town is only going to get worse in the next few months and she refuses to let him be snatched away from her. She is on the verge of completely removing Eddie from those friends. She wants him to be done with them _permanently._

xXx

**July 1989**

Eddie was officially done. 

He had started hanging out not only with those idiotic three boys but a fat boy with no friends, the black homeschooled kid with dead druggie parents, and the dirty whore redhead. Upon discovering this, Sonia had nearly gone ballistic on her son— forcing him to take two showers a day with heavy duty soaps that left his skin raw and irritated and had started creating more diagnoses for him in order to ensure that he had to stay home for more of that summer which truly was out of the kindness of her heart. Not only was she preventing him from being around that riff raff even more, but she was ensuring that he was not out and about where he could be made Its next victim. 

But maybe she should have been firmer and kept a shorter leash on her boy because those pathetic children allowed him to get hurt and break his arm and now here she was in a hospital waiting room waiting for them to release her boy— although she believed he should be admitted for at _least_ a week but as per usual, the (incompetent) staff had already told her that would not be happening.

She couldn’t change the past now but she was putting her foot down. Eddie would no longer be allowed to be around _any_ of those kids again.

She had gotten to the scene after one of those brats had called her, informing her that Eddie had hurt his arm and she had given just about every nascar champion a run for their money as she sped to their given location, not even caring to remove a few of the curlers from her frizzy hair. 

“ _You,”_ She had spat at that group of brats, pointing her finger at him as she snatched away her dusty looking boy, cradling an arm that was visibly broken, “You did _this_!” She had growled, locking her hands around his narrow shoulders and shoving him toward the car and away from those monsters. “You know how delicate he is.”

“We were attacked, M-M-Mrs. K.” The mushmouth had stammered. 

“ _Don’t_!” She had demanded, shoving her boy into the car in order to shield him from those vile children. “Don’t try and blame anyone else.”

She slammed the door shut, fumbling with her keys and dropping them in front of the slut who attempted to reach for the keys and she did not want someone like her touching anything she owned. Letting her be around Edide was obviously crime enough. 

“BACK!” She had ordered, picking it up for herself. She’d stepped into the girl’s filthy face and sneered at her, “Oh, I've heard of you Miss Marsh and I don’t want a dirty girl like you touching my son.” She had turned away, about to walk to her side of the car when the moron Denbrough boy had started talking again.

“Mrs. K, I s-swear—”

“ _NO!”_ She had bellowed at them, whipping back around to look at their grimy little faces. “You are all _monsters!_ All of you. Eddie is done with you. Do you hear? _DONE.”_

And he was done. There was no going back to that group of hoodlums anymore. She would not be allowing them to risk her boy’s health _ever_ again no matter how “happy” they made him. He didn’t need to have this subjective happiness from being around them. He needed to be safe. He needed to be kept alive for _her_. 

It could have been so much worse and she knows that but this was bad enough and it was actually worse than it could have been. She had interrogated Eddie to know what happened but he’d been too tearful to disclose much but what she did learn was that they had gone into Neibolt house (and deep down she _might_ just slightly believe William’s insistence that they were attacked because Sonia knew what was in that house) and she was also told that the idiotic Tozier boy had tried to snap his arm back and that had actually made the break even worse. 

It was always _that_ one. He was the filthiest with that _disease_ he had within him. He not only wanted to taint him with the same sickness he had but had actually _hurt_ him. 

Her temper broke and she left the waiting room to find a phone. She found a payphone and gritted her teeth so violently that she could feel her jaw begin to lock in place. She didn’t care. That Margaret let her boy around her son and now her son was severely injured. That woman deserved to hear a piece of her mind.

“Hello? This is Maggie Tozier speaking.” She answered.

“ _Your_ son got my Eddie hurt today, Margaret.” Sonia growled. “Do you know where I am right now?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’m in the emergency room waiting for my Eddie. He broke my son’s arm!”

“Sonia, Richie would never—” Maggie attempts but Sonia refuses to hear any of what that inattentive mother has to say.

“NO, MARGARET!” Sonia roars over the phone and sure she draws some attention from those that pass her but she could care less. “Your boy and all those little rats snuck into that druggie house and got my Eddie hurt and then your idiot boy tried to set it and just made it even worse. Do you even _know_ who your boy is hanging around? Of course you don’t. You’re a drunk.”

“Me drinking wine on occasion makes me a drunk?” Maggie asks snidely. She is truly pathetic so Sonia ignores this.

“Our boys have been around that slut of a girl, that black boy with the druggie parents that burned up, and some socially inept fat kid.”

“They’re nice kids, Sonia.” She is so stupidly naive. 

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Actually I can. You don’t care what your queer boy does.”

“Sonia, I swear to—”

“Eddie is done.” Sonia informs Maggie, echoing her sentiments toward the children that dragged her boy into this mess. 

“Excuse me?”

“Eddie is _done.”_ Sonia snarls. “He is done with all those kids and _your_ boy. My son is fragile and you allow your son to throw him around like some toy and now he’s hurt. It’s _his_ fault. He always encourages him to do this kind of shit when Eddie is _delicate._ He’s DONE.” She hangs up, refusing to hear anything else that woman has to say.

Eddie is done. Eddie will be safe.

xXx

**August 1989**

Eddie received the treatment he needed and she kept him inside almost always— only allowing him to leave once when he started looking a little melancholy, to pick up his prescriptions from Keene pharmacy. When he’d come home that time he’d looked rather shaken up and distraught but when questioned, he just said he’d nearly fallen off his bike and nothing was wrong so she allowed it to settle at that. 

She’d convinced him that he was presently ill with a bacterial infection (that had yet to present physical symptoms) and Eddie ate her words up like always. She had truly trained him marvelously well at this point. He needed to stay inside as much as possible to recover and even though he longed to see the trash he called his friends, she could not let him and one day, he would know what she did was for the best. 

Nevertheless, she could not help but feel slightly bad for him earlier today as he sat on the couch absolutely listless— he looked depressed. After a bit of internal debate with herself, she decided _he_ could again pick up his prescriptions just so he could get outside for a bit. Perhaps that would cheer him up and make him a little more thrilled to spend the remainder of his summer watching daytime television with his mommy. 

So she sent him out to pick up his stuff and as expected, a flicker of happiness had flashed across his soft features. That had been not too long ago and it wouldn’t be too long until he returned back to her.

She counted the minutes as she mindlessly watched the news report on even more missing children and before her anxieties could overpower her, Eddie walked in just at the exact moment he should given the distance between here and Keene’s and the typical waiting time that occurred whilst waiting to receive a prescription from the older man. 

“Hi sweetheart!” She greets and she receives no response.

He enters the living room looking very subdued— almost as if he’s been betrayed or defeated somehow. 

“Are you okay Eddie-bear?” She asks.

“Yeah.” He refuses to meet her eyes. “It’s nothing. I’m… I’m going to have a snack.” She catches a glimpse of his cast which has been graffitied with the word: **LOSER** in handwriting that she knows is not his and she can only assume he’s feeling embarrassed by whomever did that to him. She chooses not to say anything though. She doesn’t want to upset him more. 

“Alright, honey.” She replies, relaxing back into her chair. She hears the sounds of him getting out a bowl and pouring what is probably their sugar free cereal into a bowl and starts to doze to the sound of the weather report. 

xXx

She’s jolted awake by her brief nap to the sound of the phone ringing. She grunts as she moves to get up, hearing Eddie speak to whomever is on the other line.

“Okay,” he says in a hushed voice that she can still easily make out. He lets out a shuddering breath and red flags immediately go off in her head. “I’ll be there.” He hands up.

 _Be_ _there?_ Being there entails being somewhere other than the confines of their home— their very _safe_ home. He walks out, obviously aiming to sneak out the door when he runs straight into her. 

“And where just do you think you’re off to?” She demands to know in a feathery voice. 

“Out with my friends,” he tells her sheepishly, backing away like cornered prey. 

She stares him in the eyes and she sees the doubt flaring in his face just as it should. “Sweetie, you can’t go.” She tells him, keeping her voice soft and gentle to entice him into staying with her where he belongs. “You’re getting over your sickness, remember?”

The fear cast upon his face changes into anger much to her surprise. 

“My sickness? Okay, wha-what sickness, mom?” He bites back and she feels a chill run down her spine at the defiance in his voice. _No._ This was _never_ supposed to happen. He fumbles into his fanny pack, shoulders trembling with fury. “You know what these are?” He hisses, rattling a prescription bottle in his hand. “They’re gazebos! They’re _bullshit!_ ” He throws them on the ground, emphasizing his anger as the pills scatter on the floor.

She sees her lies spilled around her— lies only designed to protect him. She cannot stand for this. No. He will not resist her. She does what she has to. Everything she’s done is not bullshit. It was for his best interest because he has always been too weak to get through this world without her hand in things. This will certainly not do. 

She meets his eyes. “They help you, Eddie.” He glares at her. “I had to protect _you_.”

“Protect me?” He parrots, disbelief in his tone. “By lying to me? By keeping me locked up inside this hellhole?” His voice begins to waver. “I’m sorry but the only people that were actually trying to protect me were my _friends_ .” He’s so ignorant. _They’re_ the reason he could have died. “And you made me turn my back on them when I really needed them.” 

She’s lost him. 

“So, I’m going.” He pushes past her.

“Eddie!” She begs, reaching for him as he darts out the door. 

No. If he goes out there. He will be gone. It will take him. Those friends will hurt him. He will convince himself he doesn’t need her protecting anymore. He will think he’s strong where he is most certainly not and try to power through the world without her help. 

“Eddie!” She repeats, stumbling toward him. “You get back here!” She screams as he leaps off the steps.

“Sorry mom! I gotta go save my friends!”

“Eddie! Eddie! Don’t do this to me, Eddie! Don’t leave me!” She sobs but it’s too late.

She’s lost her hold on him. She can feel it. Eddie has betrayed her. 

xXx

**August 1994**

Even with trying to get Eddie back with gentle and kind words (that were truly not gentle nor kind at all as they were typically attempts at gaslighting him and guilt tripping him about his father’s passing and other similar persuasion tactics that only continued to drive a large wedge between them), she had officially lost her son that fateful day in August. All those years spent protecting him from the evils of the world had gone to waste. He put himself out there; needlessly exposing himself to various dangers and diseases that may overwhelm him. He went off and spent more time away from the safety of her loving home to be with those monstrous friends that continued to brainwash him into thinking he could handle the world and all the horrors it held in store for someone as delicate as him. 

With their influence, he’d been encouraged to join the track team behind her back. She had not even found out till he was a senior. He’d supposedly been setting state records and she could imagine the undue stress he was putting his lungs under with that unnecessary, neanderthalic exercise. He had expected her to be sad that she’d missed all of his meets but how could she be? He had gone all throughout the state of Maine, further subjecting himself to the risk of infection that he could die from or expose her to! She wanted to put an end to it but it was to no use for her Eddie, who was supposed to stay with her _forever_ (unlike his father and sister) had accepted a full ride scholarship to NYU. 

He was going to go to school in the cesspool that was the Big Apple. She tried to fight him on it once she discovered he had accepted that offer behind her back (encouraged of course by the tyrannical bitch, Maggie Tozier) and begged of him to not go there. New York was a provenience for infection that he, so small and fragile, could never survive against. She could not fathom him going there, becoming brainwashed by liberal professors and being in the minefield of diseases that she knew roamed that city in all of the overweight pigeons, each greasy looking hotdog stand, and hell, even all of the fancy schmancy wall street buildings. Additionally, crime was not exactly _low_ there. Sure, Eddie had endured a murderous clown whilst in Derry, but New York had a fair share of people that enjoyed killing on a regular basis and not just every twenty-seven years. 

There was no escaping the risks in that city and he was going to be going to _school_ there. He would be running a sport and continuing to weaken his body with excessive exercise that would weaken his joints later in life and probably had his lungs on the verge of bursting within his chest cavity. She _knew_ he was going to get himself hurt in that place and with his fully developed independence that she _never_ wanted for him, she couldn’t do much in protecting him— let alone _stopping_ him. 

However, she decided to work with what she could in order to keep an eye on him as much as she possibly could. She couldn’t and wouldn’t follow him into that cesspool—never. But she did end up getting in contact with her older sister who lived in Jersey, just thirty minutes outside of the city, and managed to work something out so she could move in with her for the time being as to be close to her Eddie-bear without fully immersing herself in that hellscape.

She would _never_ enter that city. Never. Not even today when Eddie was about to move into his dorm room for the year. He’d not really said a single word to her since they moved from Derry just a few days ago. He had not expected her to follow him to this extent since she had such a disdain for moving and unfamiliar places. She could feel the resentment he wrongly held toward her. 

She also knew he was probably maintaining a silent treatment out of his grief as well—not for leaving behind his childhood home, no. He’d been distraught ever since Richard had moved away from Derry after a physical assault (that her Eddie had been involved in too as if that disgusting fairy could not cause _more_ trouble). She knew deep down that their relationship far extended beyond the friendship she was already not fond of but Sonia did not think she could ever admit that out loud to herself. She did not want to consider the fact that her son was _that_ kind of sick. 

Since Eddie had a specific move-in date (and was already ready to go and separate himself from her even more), he ended up staying at her sister’s place, where she was going to be living through his college years, even though he’d made sure to make it known that he really did not want to be there around either of them in the days waiting for his move-in slot. He showed this by isolating himself and going on long distance runs despite her wishes. 

Her sister was currently working, leaving just the two of them in oppressive silence that was only ever broken by the sound of Eddie bustling about the split level home to get all of the stuff he’d brought in for daily use whilst staying here as he waited with baited breath to leave (abandon) her for college. 

She held back tears. She had lost him that day in August as he completely defied her and threw all the protective measures she had in place away simply because he could not wrap his impressionable mind around the reasons _why_ she had done what she did. He’d screamed at her several times in his teens whenever she tried to pressure him again and sometimes she nearly won him back but of course, his stupid friends and Maggie fucking Tozier put ridiculous ideas of bravery into his head and he continued to resist her. 

This, him leaving for college, would be a greater loss. He was entering the “real world” without her intelligent guidance. His eighteenth birthday had passed. He was an adult. He could legally make his own decisions even if deep down, she knew Edide could never live safely on his own despite the lies fed to him by others that did not exist to serve his best interest at heart as she, Sonia Kaspbrak, did. 

He was going to continue to grow away from her and believe he could live without protection. He would fall victim to the sicknesses that were waiting to take him away since he was born or he would hurt himself and she would lose him. Just like she lost everyone else. There was nothing she could do but sit in her sister’s waiting room, staring blankly at a TV screen and will herself not to break down into hysteria in hopes of guilting her Eddie-bear into just staying _here_ with her.

She was broken from wallowing in her own sadness when Eddie darted in, looking razzled— eyes blown wide and hair tousled from where he’d obviously been raking his hands through it. 

“Mommy? Where are my medications? I need them for school.” He demanded to know, biting fearfully upon his bottom lip.

“What?” She blinks in surprise. _That_ was not what she expected to hear. She’s not even sure if that’s _what_ she heard. 

“My medications. I need them for school. Can you help me find them?”

“Eddie… that’s not funny.” She feels insulted. She’s been hurting horribly since he got accepted into college and he’s simply making fun of the pain she feels at the prospect of losing him. “You stopped taking your medication years ago back in Derry.”

“Derry?” He furrows his brow. “What the hell is a Derry?”

She physically startles at that. Has he hit his head? “Eddie are you okay?”

“No! I don’t have my mediation, mom!” He exclaims, chopping his hand through the air.

“You don’t remember Derry?” She swallows thickly and can only wonder if this has anything to do with It. After all, all of Eddie’s friends that moved away, much to his dismay, never did write back to him or try to call after they’d left— not even Richard. Maybe there was a reason for that and maybe for her, it could be a good thing. “You don’t remember your friends?” He shakes his head rapidly. 

Time for the big guns: “You don’t remember Richie Tozier?” He’d been most desolate when he’d not heard back from that disgusting boy who brought nothing but sickness and hurt to her boy. 

“Who the hell is Richie Tozier?” He scoffs. “I don’t care. I just _need_ my medicine, mommy! I need my inhaler. I think I’m having an asthma attack.” He demands and his breathing hitches violently as panic—no _asthma_ takes hold of his lungs. 

She gets up and grabs her purse from where it sits in the kitchen and yanks out a water vapor inhaler she’d held onto after all these years and wonders if she can get ahold of Mr. Keene to possibly deliver her some refills of Eddie’s old placebo medications. She does still have some remaining in the boxes that she can give to him for the time being but she’ll have to make sure he’s well stocked for college—if he even decided to go anymore. 

She runs back to him, handing him the device and he croaks out a meager “thank you” and takes two greedy puffs from it. Joy of a level she’s not felt in _years_ , rises in her chest and a smile curls upon her face in a manner that is far too similar to that of the Grinch when he had thought of his _wonderful, awful idea_. 

She has her Eddie back (in her clutches).

**(***)**

xXx

Maggie always knew that Eddie Kaspbrak was brave.

**September 2017**

Richie’s coming out had an incredibly positive response across the board. The flood of support he’d received not only in person from them and all of his fellow Losers, but from other celebrities and fans online, was truly magnificent. Almost everyone had nothing but kind words to offer him and she knew that had to mean the world to her son. 

She can remember the first night after everything nearly broke Twitter, sitting on the couch with shimmering eyes and a small smile on his face as he responded to young teens and even older adults who had been in the same position he’d been in and were thanking Richie for inspiring them. He offered his own praises to them and offered his own genuine encouragement to them and their journey in the LGBTQA+ community. That day in June was the first time Richie had ever really been so happy and confident in himself and that level of self love continued to grow from that day forward.

Of course, as was to be expected, Richie did experience some nasty comments from some assholes on the internet and some reporters had made false accusations that him coming out was merely a coverup to him having ditched his comedy tour twice. Such statements were a rarity but Richie, even with his steady upward growth, was always one to see negative comments. He would work himself into tears and had several panic attacks that she, Went, and Eddie often grounded himself during. The bad stuff had quickly died off within the first month of his public coming out, but he still did sometimes indulge his own negative cognitions but he was getting remarkably better at drawing himself out of those darker places. 

She had never been more proud of her son than she’d been in these last few months. Him coming out had opened the door for so much growth and healing that was becoming more apparent as the months had passed. He’d not only come out of the closet but he’d broken out of the shell he’d inadvertently trapped himself in for years. 

Richie, while loud and electrifying, was never really _Richie_. He downplayed himself into a less vibrant, more basic edition of who he always had been. He wore muted versions of his heinous but excitable style. He hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets all the time as if trying to make himself as small as humanly possible for someone of his size. He wanted to be seen and to be heard but he did not want to broadcast the entire version of himself for he did not want to let anyone in. He did not want anyone to see the entire unapologetic version of himself that she had always longed to see, since the complete Richard Wentworth Tozier was truly one of the best things to grace this planet and the world deserved to have all of that.

And that version of himself was rising from the ashes of the empty shell that was riddled with so much shame that he’d ran away and nearly tried to cease his existence. He burned himself bright into someone that was radiant and full of life— on a path of self love and bona fide happiness. 

He smiled more and it was always a genuine smile that wasn’t forced or held stiffly so he wouldn’t emphasize his slightly wonky left eye or showcase the moderate protrusion of his front two teeth. It was a smile that lit up his entire face and if the moment was right, evolved into laughter that had him throwing his head back as honking gooselike sounds emitted from deep in his throat. He stood up straighter, taller—no longer attempting to curl in on himself and seem small. He kept his shoulders low and head high which gave him a more assertive, confident appearance even if he did not necessarily have those traits in bulk (yet), but it just made him seem more powerful and ready to take on whatever the world had in store for him. 

He started wearing bright colors again. Shirts with eyesore designs that only someone like him could pull off without looking like a cenile grandfather on the beach (although Eddie would tell him otherwise) and well-tailored pants that actually fit his long legs were staple pieces in his everyday attire. Everything he put his body was loud and just so true to himself.

Richie had started keeping his hair cut shorter and yes, it was initially just for the shooting of his new show, _Barry,_ but she could tell that her son was really taking a liking to this hairstyle. The sideburns he kept more trimmed and short accentuated the cheekbones she’d given him and in not keeping his hair long (which looked better when he was a child and in his teens but not so much now that it was thinning) everyone could see his face in its entirety and see those expressive eyes and wild brows that waggled playfully anytime he told a teasing joke or flirted (in what he thought was a discrete manner but definitely was not) with Eddie. 

With his character on the show, he’d also graduated to wearing contact lenses more often. She personally liked when he wore his glasses that magnified his bright blue eyes, but it was also nice to see his face in its entirety and get to see the happiness written upon his features without anything obscuring the way his face crinkled up in joy— something that was starting to happen more and more. He did wear his glasses at home, after a long day of filming usually, but it was nice to have this opportunity to see her son’s face and maybe she’s biased and holding onto some weird hope that Went always teases her about, but she _thinks_ she notices that Eddie seems to look at him with longing and adoration whenever he can completely see (or gaze into) her son’s eyes. 

Richie was experiencing a stellar upward spiral and the glow in his physical appearance just testified to that. What was more important was the changes in his personality. There was a marked decrease in his usual self-deprecating humor (but of course he used _some_ of it for the bits he’d started writing for his next tour: _Art is Dead_ which was supposed to be something new he wanted to try by combining his own bits of standup, music, and improv), an increase in his energy that had him working out with Eddie and writing so much for this show that he was actually so excited to be working on, and the radiant aura that followed him every time he entered a room. He looked like he was thankful to be alive every single day and like life wasn’t a burden to him or something to be scared of anymore. 

He wasn’t just going through menial motions and existing because he _had_ to. He was alive and he _felt_ alive and he was _happy_ to be alive. That’s all Maggie ever wanted to see from him and he’d created that happiness for himself. There were not enough words to express the pride roaring in her chest every single day she saw her son enter a room with a smile and a drive to get through the day with buzzing excitement. 

Except today he decided to enter the living room where she sat comfortably with Went and Eddie, drawing his face into a pout and tossing himself next to his friend on the loveseat and groaned loudly. She was not in the slightest bit worried because she knew that was not a sound of distress or anguish but merely one that may come from a cranky child— or just a grouchy forty-one year old with the attitude of a cranky child. 

“You alright there, Dickard?” Went raises his brows at the dramatics presented by their son. Her husband shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. 

“No.” Richie grumped, rolling onto his back, slumping further down the back of the couch, mussing his neatly combed hair a bit. “I did my first scene with a gun yesterday.”

“Okay?” Eddie says, confusion thick in his tone.

“And I wasn’t exactly the best at holding a gun ‘naturally,’” Richie finger quotes the word with a scowl, “so Alec just called and said we have to work on that so instead of filming today I’m going to a shooting range to work on it.”

“I still don’t see the reason for your whining.” Eddie admits.

“It just… a shooting range feels _way_ too Republican and I’m publicly out now and I’m _really_ not trying to get my ass kicked by some confederate flag waving, second amendment humping, homophobic redneck.”

Maggie herself cannot help but snort at his comment even if his fears definitely hold some validity to them. 

Eddie considers this for a second. “Is that the shooting range around that one axe throwing bar?” 

Richie nods, befuddled. 

Eddie snorts. “Well if they try anything you can show off the fact that you _definitely_ know your way around an axe. Bowers could have testified to that.” 

“Bowers would also testify that you know your way around a knife.” Richie teases back, sitting up just so he can poke Eddie in the scar on his cheek. 

“Shut up. I’ll show _you_ that I know my way around a knife.” Eddie replies with no heat in his voice, playfully punching her son in the shoulder. 

“Aw, you don’t mean that.” Richie giggles and Eddie just rolls his eyes, not even attempting to hide the smile dimpling at the corners of his mouth. 

The two had always been close. They were quite literally soulmates even if their relationship was showing no signs of progressing beyond a friendship at the moment— which was okay since platonic soulmates were _definitely_ a thing. They were always there for one another and living together just reignited every bit of forgotten friendship and it was like no time had passed and as if they’d never been apart for even a minute in their entire lives. 

There was a rocky beginning of course with their own personal obstacles of physical and mental recovery that made it difficult to indulge in their typical playful bantering and teasing from their youth. But now, they were doing so much better and they just seemed like slightly greying, stretched out versions of the noodly looking kids that would shove each other around and snuggle close upon the couch in the living room where they’d essentially grown up together (since Eddie’s home was not a place for him to really grow up and had not served as a foundation for him to find his own identity the way Maggie felt the Tozier home had). 

Maggie does not think either of them could ever really be completely separated again. They belong together and it doesn’t matter if there is a specific label behind them being in each other’s presence but what she does know is the two of them truly thrive being so close. She doesn’t think either of them would have gotten better at the rapid rate they did without the others’ presence— especially Richie. He always needed his Eds.

Eddie was definitely one of the most helpful after Richie came out and had been so obviously thrilled for his best friend. However, Maggie could sense that there was an underlying sadness and perhaps a hint of jealousy woven into those more positive feelings. Eddie had watched her son confront his worst fear and sure Eddie was confronting his own fears and was slowly healing from years of manipulative abuse and was progressing in other ways. 

He was officially back on his feet— literally. His injury was nonexistent at this point which was a surprise to anyone that knew the gruesome and debilitating nature of that injury. He had gone running for the first time back in August and maybe it wasn’t as long of a run as he used to go on, but it demonstrated the magnificent strives he’d made as he managed to push his body to a healthy limit before coming home, sweat-drenched and giddy on a runner’s high. Once he finished babbling about everything he saw whilst on his run and after the endorphins melted away as he chugged down a bottle of water, he had looked at her and Went and broke down crying. Not because the physical exertion had set in and he was in pain but because he was just so fucking happy to be able to use his body in the way he used to before it nearly gave up on him last summer. 

Eddie was also doing well in terms of his schooling. Eddie was presently a full time student, doing online course work at USC. Sure, he was physically better and _could_ probably do in-person work but he made it clear he wanted to focus on his mental healing before fully immersing himself in his academics. Regardless, he was very obviously dedicated and Maggie could not wait for him to finish his nursing program and to see him do his younger self some justice and get a job that he actually had a passion for. 

The daily breakhroughts he made were no disappointment in the slightest. Eddie Kaspbrak was doing extremely well. But, unlike Richie, he had not attempted to be as unequivocally open and had not tried to be completely honest with himself about who he was and what he wanted longterm from himself. Yes, going to school was a phenomenal step in that direction but he was not expressing any motives to attempt his own _internal,_ emotional growth.

He was not living his life without fear or shame. He still let the ghosts of his mother’s voice haunt him and control him even if he wasn’t aware of it. Yes he got rid of his old medications and was ridding himself of the neurotic habits she had enforced upon him but there was still so much doubt for his own capabilities and it was disheartening. He had a strong sense of discontent with himself that was simply unneeded. He was too scared to not be scared of his own secrets or to completely abandon the warped mindsets instilled in him from both his mother and soon-to-be-but-currently-pending ex-wife. 

That didn’t mean he was not brave. Eddie Kaspbrak was so fucking brave. The bravest of all the Losers in Maggie’s opinion— not that she would ever say that to anyone. They’d all been through so much and had very unfair cards dealt to them. But Eddie? He just was so fierce and courageous even when he was told he lacked the ability to be either of those things. He was taught that he was delicate and incapable of amounting to anything but an incompetent little boy who could never be self sufficient and would forever have to rely on someone else to care for him. He was told he was weak— that he was essentially nothing without his mother, and later on, his wife.

But Eddie, even though such words obviously affected him in a plethora of ways that he was still recovering from, managed to be everything he was told he could not be. Eddie stood his ground and stood up to those that hurt him and his friends. He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and to take charge of a situation. He didn’t have to rely on someone else to get him through all of his struggles. Yes, he definitely thrived having a friend at his side (as was demonstrated with him moving in with Richie), but Maggie knew that Eddie of all people could do just about anything on his own. 

Eddie was never one to back down. He could be torn to pieces and told to stay on the ground and accept defeat, but he never would. Eddie would pull himself back up, fists up, ready to go another round. He was a complete spitfire. He endured abuse with a level of fortitude very few had. Eddie Kaspbrak was the epitome of resilience.

“Ugfh,” Richie groaned as he looked at his cellphone, stretching his arms over his head and sliding from the couch and melting into a pile on the floor. “I have to go to this shooting range now I guess. If I get arrested for killing an asshole with an axe, will you come support me at my trial?”

“You’re not Ted Bundy and I’m not a dumbass fetishizing a murderer at a murder trial.” Eddie replies.

“Ooooh, Eds gets off on a good one!” Went chortles. 

Richie’s hand flutters to his chest in mock offense. “You wouldn’t rant about how cute I am and how you don’t think _I_ did it to the press even with a fuck ton of evidence stacked upon me? Eddie! I am _hurt!_ ”

“I’d probably jump in on the case and try to sue you for pain and suffering.” Eddie chuckles. 

“I might have to join you in that case, Eddie.” Maggie chimes in.

“As would I.” Went raises his hand.

“You all just suck.” Richie grouches and lifts himself up from the floor. “Do any of you wanna come with me? It could be fun since you’ll get to laugh at me.”

“I would but I have to submit a lab report tonight.” Eddie tells him.

“I’ll go.” Went shrugs his shoulders, pressing a kiss to Maggie’s cheek before drawing himself up steadily. She’s noticed that since both of them have retired they’ve slowed down a considerable amount but she tries not to think about it too much. 

“I’ll have to pass.” Maggie says. A shooting range is not her cup of tea and she knows it’s not Richie’s either but he’s been determined to portray this former military man turned hitman character to the best of his ability. She had a feeling this show was going to be better than Richie, even with his growing self confidence, has let on. 

“Alrighty Magma. Leftpoor and I will be back soon.” He salutes them with a playful grin.

“ _Leftpoor_ ?” Went sounds almost disgusted at the pathetic attempt of a play on his name. “That’s _awful_ , Richard. I’ve taught you better than that.” He scolds as they step out the door, leaving her and Eddie in silence. A rarity to come by when they live with the two goofiest men in existence— not that either of them mind whatsoever.

The two of them remain quiet not for long as Eddie turns to her and she immediately turns the TV off to give him her full, undivided attention because she can tell based upon the expression on his face that there is something weighing on his too frequently troubled mind. 

“Are you alright, Eds?” She questions, patting the seat next to her. He hops off the couch and takes the cushion next to her on, leaning against the arm of the couch. 

“I just… I’ve been thinking a lot lately… well since June or maybe when I went to see Myra… or maybe when I came here in Decem— no I’ve been thinking about this since last August when we all got together.” He heaves a shuddering breath and she nods, encouraging him to continue. “Uh well, it’s kinda just stuff I haven’t really even discussed in detail in therapy.”

“What is it?”

“Well obviously Richie came out as gay in June and because of what Richie did, Mike had the courage to come out as acesexual in August and I dunno.” He moves a hand through his hair. “It was just really empowering to see them do that. They were just so… so _brave_ and I really admired them for that.”

She nods in agreement. Mike had followed Richie’s footsteps and did come out not long after her son did. He had actually come to Richie first even though not everyone’s coming out was the same experience but he knew that Richie understood the level of inner turmoil and uncertainty that Mike had been experiencing for most of his life. Mike did not really know what label he felt most comfortable with and while Richie explained that he didn’t necessarily need a label, Mike admitted that he would feel more comfortable being able to apply something to himself and he soon realized that asexuality perfectly defined his feelings of attraction.

So when he did figure out what fit for him, Mike ended up coming out to all of the Losers and of course, the Loser parents— all of which showered him in just as much love and support as they had with Richie. Mike was completely free of Derry and was free of the qualms he had felt in regards to that part of himself. 

“I agree.” She nods. “What they both did took a lot of courage.”

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just… I was so happy to see them do that and it’s kinda hit me that… I want that too, I think. I want to be brave like that but I just… I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know, Eddie?” 

“I know I’m not… I’m not straight.” He shakes his head and she sees his eyes growing wet. “But I’m just so confused because I married a _woman_ even though I felt… I felt no physical attraction to her at all and I don’t think I’ve ever found any woman to be attractive no matter how hard I’ve tried because I’ve always…” he looks upward, willing the tears to stay in their ducts before looking back at her again, “I’ve always been told that a boy who likes boys is a sick boy and is basically as good as a dead boy.”

“Eddie, that’s not true.” She tells him, disgusted that such words were ever uttered by another human being but Maggie believes she knows the source of those words and she can’t pretend she’s all too surprised that that person said them. 

“You are not sick. You are _so_ great, Eddie— every part of you is wonderful. Nothing about you, especially your sexuality, is wrong in the slightest and anyone who has told you that had no idea what they were talking about nor could they recognize just how lucky they were to have someone with as kind of a heart as you have, Eds and they should have been able to love every single bit of you.” She meets his glistening brown eyes. “Eddie, there is _nothing_ wrong with you. _Nothing_.” 

“I-I know that and obviously I knew that when I… I dated Richie in high school. But now I’ve regressed so much and I’m just so scared all the time to say that I am…” he shakes his head, unable to formulate the words as sobs begin to wrack his body.

She wraps her arms around him, rubbing a soothing hand down his back as he dampens the fabric of her shirt. “It’s okay, Eddie. You don’t have to say it right now. You can say it when you’re ready and that’s okay. 

“I’m sorry, Maggie.” Eddie cries.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Eds.” She reassures, cupping his cheeks with her hands.

He shakes his head, lips wobbling. “I still love him, Maggie.” He whimpers, “I still love your son.”

**  
  
**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the dumbass teens of '62 were 100000% a reference to the teens peaking in high school or those that did peak in high school and are in college and can't stop partying during a fucking pandemic. <3 
> 
> I hope this one was okay and I hope my portrayal of Sonia was moderately decent. Some of Sonia's qualities are not inherently wrong in the slightest. Her demand for respect? We love that even it seems ~harsher~ to most bc lets be real, if you're reading this fluffy disaster, I know damn damn well you, like me, are not assertive in the slightest and her attitude probably makes you uncomfy bc you would never do that bc you kind reader probably would accept a latte filled with ingredients you're allergic to and just apologize for going to anaphylactic shock. 
> 
> Anyway.....people should just be treated kindly and that included Sonia at work (any other time nah fuck that bitch). However, her parenting was certainly problematic and her maltreatment toward Eddie and others came from a place of untreated problems (with the exception of her homophobia, racism, general prejudice, and holier than thou attitude...b that's just inexcusable) that Eddie became the victim of which as someone who has a mother who NEEDS therapy but doesn't get it, knows that is often a big reason why some people aren't the best toward their kids. I personally dislike Sonia a lot tbh. Frank is rad tho because he's basically Eddie. Maggie Tozier for the win against all mothers. <3
> 
> Also, Sonia's maiden name (Atkinson) is actually taken from the actress (Mollie Jane Atkinson) who portrays her in the films. I have also just realized i never gave Maggie a maiden name and the actress Janet Porter is listen to have played Stan's mom in the first movie apparently but Richie's mom in the second but I always decided that blonde curly haired woman (if you can't tell by my description of Maggie in the earlier bits of this long ass bullshit thing we can only hope to say is a story if it qualifies as such) is Maggie Tozier in my head and that actress is named Janet Porter so my lazy ass has decided that Maggie's maiden name is Maggie Porter. :) 
> 
> i have been bullying mask debaters online lately and it feels ~good~ wear a mask dumb fucks <3 and if you can vote, please get out and vote the horse out of the hospital!!!!
> 
> if ya had to skip here is summary: basically a long winded bit of Sonia as Eddie's mom and how she kinda became the way she was as a result of her own trauma of experiencing the evil of the town 27 years prior to when Eddie did, meeting Frank, miscarriage of a daughter, and losing Frank to cancer. She never did treat her traumas with professional help and Eddie became the victim of her untreated mind. 
> 
> HAVE AN GOOD DAY. 
> 
> richie and eddie are currently horror moving binging. richie is totally into horror more but also the biggest scaredy cat and has definitely kicked eddie in the stomach while laying across him too many times out of fear. eddie throws popcorn at him and ophelia gladly eats it.
> 
> A/N 11/23/20: I've been in a ~mental mess~ lately and it's kinda tolling on my ability to do anything beyond getting out of bed so like Ill get to this eventually. it's all outlined and ready to go. I just have no thinking capacity. I apologize.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I keep dragging out updates like balls across glass. My mental health has tanked a lot recently and normally I just would sit down and bust out an entire chapter but lately I just write a couple words and then ditch my computer for the entire day and sleep so it's difficult to finish anything because I start it, leave it, hate it, delete everything, start over, and repeat that cycle until I produce something my self esteem still says sucks but is "okay" enough to put in this monster of a story. 
> 
> am sorry. plz forgive me. am but a noodle. 
> 
> This chapter was hands down the hardest so write. Yikes. My brain was not cooperating and pretty please bear with this chapter or skip if ya want! It is primarily filler and obnoxious fluff content!!!! 
> 
> This chapter is INCREDIBLY short especially compared to the monster that was 44 and I hope that it doesn't disappoint! I really am trying and I know what's happening next. It IS outlined and I really wanted this story to be done by Jan 13th (the day of the first chapter I posted for this fic) but I don't think that'll happen but it's gucci. Ya gotta be kind to yourselves so here is a short boy.
> 
> Enjoy my dudes or don't. I don't blame you either way.

Maggie knew that Richie and Eddie were the biggest dumbasses in the world. 

**December 2017**

The contrast of twinkling, white lights that adorned the altar and the trees of a vineyard, all under a purplish Californian sky, sparkling against the professionally decorated Christmas trees and the glitter-sprayed poinsettias that lined the aisle way was truly a breathtaking sight and made for a stunning wedding venue. An outdoor wedding in the heart of December was a sight that could only _comfortably_ occur in southern California— or just about anywhere where snow was a foreign concept and a “chilly” evening was actually an evening with mild temperatures that didn’t even necessarily warrant a light jacket for anyone that hadn’t grown weak whilst living in an area that lacked the yearly exposure to the bitter cold many were accustomed to enduring. 

Maggie Tozier, with all the time she spent bullying her fully grown son of how whiny he got in SoCal’s idea of a cool night finally felt for him as she sat in the second row clad in nothing but a sleeveless gown that she, in her sixties, was pulling off quite well if she must say so herself but said gown did absolutely _nothing_ to protect her from the (barely existent) breeze that coasted across her arms and chilled her right to the bone.

Admittedly, she was somewhat envious of her son at the present moment. He was not stuck sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chairs that were in desperate need of refurbishment as some splintery pieces jabbed at her through the fabric of her dress, but he was rather standing on the altar in a well-tailored tuxedo that was _easily_ warmer than her gown. But she would not complain. How could she in the midst of such a lovely ceremony between two gentlemen that very clearly loved each other more than life itself?

Her eyes had burned with brimming tears since they arrived and she’d first seen the gorgeous decor, but now she found herself blinking back the overflow of moisture that threatened to smear her waterproof mascara (which could only do so much) as the red headed officiant wrapped up his spiel and was just about ready to declare the official unity of Steve Covall and Eric Pearson.

Most people might find it peculiar that Maggie and Wentworth were invited to the wedding of their son’s ex boyfriend— and it made sense. It was not exactly a common feat for one to have as good of a relationship with their ex as Richie had with Steve. Maggie isn’t sure she can really think of another split couple whereby one of them actually appointed the other as their best man, invited their parents to the wedding, and permitted them to bring a plus one. Which in this particular case, Richie’s plus one was the person that had hibernated in his subconscious for twenty-something years and was the reason Richie had ever been attracted to Steve in the first place: Eddie Kaspbrak. 

The world is funny that way. However, even though Maggie believed Eddie was the clear choice for Richie to bring to the wedding (even excluding their mutual attraction to one another), Richie had been uncertain who to bring at first. Or at least he put up a facade of not being sure who to bring— perhaps as a way to not seem overly eager at the prospect of bringing Eddie as his date which Richie would probably insist _wasn’t_ a date but totally just a convenient friend/roommate to bring along. 

There was of course the understandable worry Richie held about actually taking Steve up on his offer and bringing a date even though things between the two of them were positively more than fine— it was just a general fear that would accompany _anyone_ attending their ex boyfriend’s wedding. Additionally, with his public coming out, Richie’s insecurities surged because he felt extremely inadequate that he was out but he wasn’t dating anyone. 

He seemed to have felt like he was under some obligation to hurriedly get into a relationship in order to prove… _something?_ To prove his sexuality? To prove himself as a competent romantic partner? To prove something meaningless and shallow; to find a nameless man to be his arm candy and to date solely for nosy paparazzi to capture and to feature on a magazine that only really tickled the fancy of the dullest individuals mankind had to offer who actually _believed_ the shit published in those things.

This distorted perception that fueled an unnecessary need to immediately get with somebody had spawned a less than pleasant relationship just a month prior which didn’t exactly help Richie’s still pathetically slow building confidence which was honestly slower than the passage of time between Thanksgiving to Christmas in the eyes of an impatient five-year-old. Progress was _still_ being made but Richie’s brief fling with an asshole that was very obviously only into Richie for his money and status led to a sudden spiral and further complicated the whole bringing a date to the wedding predicament he found himself in. 

Her son was desperate to be loved and desperate _to love_ someone for he was boiling over with passion and dedication that he felt he had no one to give. He had, on several occasions, and even more so after that failed relationship (if a three week stint with a poor excuse of human existence could be labeled as such) come to her crying about how he just wanted a relationship and how he felt so stupid and inadequate for making such a big deal about coming out but still not being able to find anyone that he wanted to spend his life with.

“I’m in my fucking forties and I haven’t had literally _anyone_ ever look in my fuckin direction.” He had sniffled bitterly one evening to her. 

Her heart had dropped at that as she held her son close, comforting him as she always had. It was hard to think of the right words to tell him because in all honesty, her son was an honest to god idiot.

Oh, he really was one of the biggest fucking idiots she’d ever had the blessing of knowing. The love of his life, his acutal fucking soulmate, was right under the tip of his nose—living in his motherfucking house. The one person Richie _truly_ wanted, actually wanted him back. But with his pisspoor self esteem, he was incapable of recognizing that. It also didn’t help that the other person, Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, lacked the ability to see that Richie very obviously loved him back.

Maggie kept the fact about Eddie’s love for her son to herself for it was _his_ secret and she valued the trust he held with her. She wanted to knock some sense into the both of them and to hopefully kickstart this relationship already but it was Eddie’s secret that he felt comfortable enough to tell her and it was _not_ her place to tell her son. That was Eddie’s job to do. Or maybe it was Richie’s job to step forward because he’d been holding these feelings for just as long as Eddie surely had been (even if many of their feelings had been stowed away in their distorted subconscious for twenty-two years as a result of some weird clown-related trauma). It was hard to say. The two of them were about as dense as the human species could possibly be. 

Maggie was filled with a mixture of delight for it was nice to _know_ that both of them still held each other in the same loving regard; but she was also overwhelmed with agony because admittedly, Maggie Tozier was a meddler at heart. She _loved_ eavesdropping. She loved sticking her nose where it was most certainly not needed. She loved taking hold of a messy situation and guiding those involved toward an appropriate solution.

Maggie’s chronic interfering and nosiness may be seen as a flaw to some; but she had utilized this meddlesome nature to help her son since he was a tyke. She always felt like she understood her Richie and her prying behavior honestly served to understand him in a way that she would never be able to on her own because for all his yapping, Richie was too quiet where it mattered. He had never been one to _fully_ disclose whatever he was going through even if telling her would alleviate any turmoil he was battling. She knew he was capable of solving his own problems—he had always been intelligent— but there were moments where she felt obligated to provide some motherly nudging in order to ensure that he made the right decisions and acted in such a way that would yield the most beneficial results. And yes, maybe _some_ of her probing was simply to fuel her own curiosities but she was just an inquisitive woman and there was no legitimate harm in possessing such a quality. 

But presently, she was not about to engage in her officious tendencies for this— Eddie and Richie’s love for one another— was something so much more personal and complex than anything she’d ever butted her head into before. It felt _wrong_ to play her hand at pulling their heads out of their asses and pushing them together. Their romance was something that _should_ (and hopefully would) occur naturally and in it’s own time— even if it was _grossly_ overdue. They both loved each other an immense amount. She knew this. They’d both told her without her even having to snoop about or to hear such information— hah! 

Not that they really needed to tell her; anyone with even just half a brain cell functioning at a sixteenth of normal capacity could see that they were both enormously enamored with each other

They were fully grown and competent adults (most of the time) and the only thing holding them back was an unfortunate amount of trauma that’d been bestowed upon each of them and of course their own individual insecurities that made such confessions of love nearly impossible for the two to profess at the present moment as their recoveries, while progressing remarkably well, were still not at a level whereby they were entirely comfortable being their true selves. 

For now, Maggie Tozier would remain quiet (even if it was so against her nature) and simply hope that they would figure everything out for themselves. Until then, Eddie would just be her son’s best friend. His roommate. Richie’s plus one for Steve and Eric’s wedding. Nothing more— much to her dismay. 

She had to shake herself from such thoughts. Disappointed feelings were not appropriate for a wedding. They did exist, yes. But such pisspoor sentiments should only occur when one is witnessing a unity that shouldn’t be happening due to a toxic partnership or when one is burdened with unrequited feelings of love and greened by jealousy as they watch their own love marry somebody else. That wasn’t the case here. This was a happy celebration. The focus was not on the messy love life of her son and Eddie Kaspbrak but on the two men intertwining their souls with the most powerful two word statement and the following kiss that elicited a loud whistle from her husband and caused more tears of joy to burn the surface of her eyes.

Eddie, next to her wearing a navy blue suit, clapped his hands together, beaming as Steve and Eric walked back down the aisle. His brown eyes were swimming with happiness for the newly wed couple. Eddie had continued to grow quite close to Steve—not that it was hard for they were all too similar in a multitude of ways that Eddie, being an oblivious dumbass, had never really caught on to. Although she knew it was a bit bothersome to Eddie that he had not received a personal invitation to the wedding.

Maggie believes Eddie would have been individually invited to the wedding but she knew how Steve's mind worked. He didn’t want to invite Eddie. He wanted to give Richie a reason to bring Edide as a “totally not date,” and clearly, it worked. If it hadn’t, Maggie knows Steve would have given him a last minute invite to ensure that Eddie could be there no matter what. 

Once Steve and Eric walk off toward the reception hall, the two grooms teams are all directed the same way. She knows once they clear out the guests will also be led into the heated reception hall, which Maggie is immensely grateful for. She can no longer handle the chilly weather with the brave face she is currently maintaining with all her might. She refuses to let her son see that her teeth are desperate to chatter and her hands yearn to rub away the goose flesh upon her exposed arms because if she surrenders to such actions to create warmth, it will render her unable to relentlessly tease him anytime he whines about their mild winter weather. She manages to preserve her composure as the two separate groom parties walk off together, which then permits the guests to _finally_ leave the venue and go inside. 

The reception hall, much like the altar, has been beautifully decorated for the impending holidays. She is immediately warmed by the heat blasting through the vents and cannot contain the sigh of relief that passes her glossed lips. She, Went, and Eddie each take their name cards and make their way to the table where Richie has already beat them to and is presently sipping from a steaming cup of hot chocolate that he must’ve gotten from the hot chocolate bar Steve had informed them about. She trusts him enough now to know he most definitely did not spike his cup with Bailey’s or peppermint schnapps as most guests are bound to be doing. 

“You all look dashing.” Richie grins, a bit of whip cream dolloped upon the tip of his nose.

“And you look like a fool.” Eddie snickers back, taking the liberty of wiping the cream off of his face with one of the peak folded napkins. Maggie knows Eddie does not believe his own statement. She had noticed the longing gaze in his eyes as her son stood on the altar looking rather handsome in the striking groomsmen tux that successfully complemented his gangly form incredibly well. She’d have to thank Steve and Eric for tailoring something that flattered his funky build rather than taking the easy route of simply renting plain black suits that just made her son look like a disgruntled frog attempting to stand on its hindlegs for the first time. 

Richie merely hums. “I would’ve gotten you guys some but I wasn’t sure if you wanted the adult version or not.” He demonstrates the appeal of the "adult version" with some wild jazz hands.

“Is that what you got?” Eddie inquires but there is no concern in his voice. He trusts Richie just as she does. It is a standard question and Richie does not appear offended in the slightest.

“Well, duh. You can’t get hot chocolate without marshmallows.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes but his lip quirks up anyway. He sits down next to her son and the two immediately fall into a discussion about something discussed earlier in their Losers Club group chat. She and Went decide to leave them to their own devices in order to get their own hot chocolates—the “adult version” that their son would have approved of. 

Steve, a punctual and organized man (part of the reason why her son hired him in the first place), does not allow his guests to wait too long for an immaculate dinner to be served and for the more entertaining festivities of the reception to officially kick off. After dinner, Eric and Steve make it onto the dance floor for their official first dance. Maggie is immediately taken back to her own wedding and offers Went a small smile which he mirrors back, tears twinkling in his eyes as he thinks fondly of one of the best moments of their lives. It’s funny to think that Richie was actually somewhat part of that moment too. 

As their first dance comes to a close with a gentle kiss that elicits applause from the guests and a few happy sobs from the more emotional folk (Maggie and Richie included), the tone quickly changes to that of a party atmosphere. Guests, riled up by the copious amounts of alcohol they’ve buzzed their systems with run onto the floor as the DJ begins playing more fast paced, classic songs that simply begs for the sloppy, disjointed moves of the intoxicated. 

It’s moments like this where Maggie wishes Richie was still a teenager so she could absolutely humiliate him as she danced around with Went— the two of them easily resembling the inflatable men that fluttered wildly outside used car dealerships. But he was in his forties now and could not find it in himself to be embarrassed so much by their antics anymore. If anything he just chuckled at them, obviously admiring their lively spirit from his spot at the table that he had not left. Richie was normally one to be the life of the party but for now he seemed more content sitting next to Eddie and chatting away whilst sipping on some more “adult” hot chocolate. 

“Think they’ll get their heads out of their asses anytime soon?” Went snorts, sounding a little winded after bouncing around to “Sweet Caroline.” She had informed Went of Eddie’s reciprocated feelings for their son and had somehow managed to convince him to keep his blasted mouth shut but that didn’t mean he didn’t like to gossip about it with her at every turn.

“I’d like to think so.” She huffs out. Her husband pushes a stray curl of hers behind her ear. “Let’s sit down. You shouldn’t exert yourself too much.” She scolds, poking him not too roughly over his heart.

A playful roll of his eyes is followed by a relieved sigh once they seat themselves at the table. She knew he was definitely going a little too hard out there and a break was definitely what Went needed right now.

“You two enjoying yourselves?” Eddie questions, setting his mug down.

“Oh they definitely were.” Richie chortles, shedding his suit jacket off and loosening his tie. 

“You should be too.” Went remarks, reaching for his water glass and plucking a cube out to press into his pressure points.

“I am!” Richie defends, raising his mug up. 

“He just doesn’t want everyone to see that his sixty-year-old parents dance infinitely better than him.” Eddie teases, elbowing Richie in the ribs.

“You thought they were good?” Her son blanches and Maggie herself is starting to wonder if Eddie has actually started indulging in the _real_ adult hot chocolate if he honestly thinks their uncoordinated motions were even remotely decent.

“Oh I never said that.” Eddie cackles. 

“Asshole.” Richie grumbles. His voice rises in pitch as he attempts to defend his honor against Eddie. “I did theater! I was a _remarkable_ dancer.”

“ _Was_ being the keyword.” Went says, smirking devilishly at the two. He is clearly egging on this behavior, which can only be described as flirtatious by anyone with eyes —actually, Maggie thinks that even Helen Keller could sense the romantic tension between the two men. 

Richie is about to argue but Steve halts him with a clap to the shoulder as he tipsily stumbles into the back of Richie’s chair. “Havin’ fun are we?” His words are slurred and his cheeks are flushed. 

The giddiness that twists his mouth upward however, is not just from the ample amounts of couple cocktails people have been giving to him and Eric all night. He is absolutely full of the kind of endorphins that can only happen when officially united with one’s soulmate. She remembers her and Went looking _just_ like that and they hadn’t even touched a drop of alcohol on their wedding night (as she’d been pregnant and Went wasn’t about to drink while his wife couldn’t). 

“We definitely are.” Maggie beams. “We are all _so_ happy for you two.” 

“You and me both.” He says dreamily but seems to compose himself a bit as he shoots his attention to Richie and Eddie. “You two are being lame. Come have fun.”

“We are having fun.” Richie argues.

“Gazing into each other’s eyes at the table isn’t the kind of fun I want you to have right now.” He admonishes. Eddie and Richie’s cheeks both burn an impressive red color but Steve doesn’t give them a chance for a rebuttal, “I understand _him_ being more lax at a party,” Steve points at Eddie, “but you’re supposed to be my _fun_ friend, Richard.”

“I am fun!” Richie giggles, snorting slightly. Eddie averts his eyes, looking down at the silk tablecloth and smiles at the sound he finds most endearing.

“Nah. You’ve proven yourself to be an actor, my friend.” Steve guffaws, pointing a finger in Richie’s face. “This comedian thing is all just an act because you are _laaaaammeeee_.” 

Richie scoffs, attempting to seem offended but he cannot hold back the grin stretching across his face. “You’re a prick, you know that?”

“You _can’t_ say that! It is my _wedding_ day, Richard! You need to have _some_ fun!” A serious look suddenly dawns upon his flushed features. “But not _too_ much fun. You have a writing session tomorrow morning.” 

Maggie shakes her head, laughter bubbling past her lips. She has no idea where her son would be without someone as hard working and focused as Steve Covall in his corner. 

“It is your _wedding_ day, Steven!” Richie parrots. “Do you _ever_ stop?”

“With you as a client? Hell no!” 

Richie lets out a belly laugh, smacking Steve on his bicep. “I honestly just need to move in with you and Eric so you can keep constant tabs on me, huh?” 

Eddie shoots a glare in Richie’s direction that goes unnoticed by Maggie’s painfully unaware son. 

“Rich, Eric and I live in a studio apartment.” Steve says but he does seem to consider Richie’s suggestion. “I mean I _guess_ you could live in the hall closet.”

Richie’s eyes narrow. “Why do you _still_ live in a studio. I pay you _way_ better than that.”

“We love the view, man.” Steve shrugs.

“Wait a minute,” Went interrupts, shaking his head. “Steve, you can’t make Richie live in the closet. He did that for forty years.”

“Went!” Maggie gasps.

Eddie and Steve each fall into a loud fit of laughter at that and Richie attempts to maintain an affronted expression but cannot halt his own giggle fit that quickly overwhelms him. 

“Okay, that was good and I do have to agree: I would rather not go back in there.” Richie admits, nodding in Went’s direction. 

“Okay, then stay in your oversized mcmansion and actually use the Google calendar that Eddie and I made for you so we don’t gotta hound you all the time.” Steve tells him, playfully shoving Richie.

“I’ll think about it.” Her son smiles genuinely at Steve. “I have no idea where I’d be without you man.”

“You’d probably be the chatty Uber driver that no one likes that much.” He snorts to himself. “But you would be the driver that has tons of snacks for his passengers.”

Richie elects to ignore this and pats Steve’s back. “I’m seriously so happy for you guys and I really appreciate you choosing me to be your best man.”

“Hey don’t get sappy on me right now, Tozier. You’re gonna kill my buzz.” He doesn’t mean it as his eyes crinkle with joy. “But seriously,” he grabs Richie’s hands in his own, “both of you,” he nods to Eddie, “on the dance floor. _Now_.” 

Richie surrenders to such requests and lifts himself up from his seat, stretching dramatically. “Alright, alright. Let’s go, Eds.”

“You guys staying here?” Eddie asks her and Went.

“I think we’re gonna take a bit of a break, yes.” Maggie tells him. 

“We’ll see you soon.” And with that, Richie and Eddie throw themselves in the middle of all the chaotic dancing, staying close to each other and looking equally as disastrous as most of the other guests. 

Maggie watches as they bounce about filled with pure, unadulterated joy. They are unable to take their eyes off one another, clearly teasing one another for their own goofy movements. They don’t need the other guests or even the music. They find enough joy just being within each other’s proximity. 

Went slides his arm around her, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. “They’ll figure it out… eventually. I hope.”

She titters. “I hope so too.” She looks into his eyes and hums a sound of affection. “I just want him to have,” she gestures to the room, “this and to be just as happy as us.”

“Is that even possible, Mags?” Went challenges with a waggle of his brows. 

“Mmmm.” She shrugs, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’d like to think so. They’re meant for each other just like you and I.” 

With his long index finger, Went traces small shapes into the skin left exposed by her gown. “They deserve it after everything they’ve been through.”

“Too bad they’re fucking stupid.” She grunts. 

“That is _extremely_ unfortunate, Mageline.” Went agrees, rubbing his hand through the strands of her hair that came loose when they were dancing around. 

They sit there, comfortable in their silence as they watch the younger (but still technically middle-aged) guests bop around on the floor as the DJ plays through the more “hype” songs before announcing that it’s finally time for a few slow songs. Some people take this as an opportunity to step away and relax a bit or to fetch a few drinks to replenish their diminishing BAC levels into something moderately more toxic. Others, primarily wedded couples, remain— delighted to move slowly to some love songs with their own loves. 

Steve and Eric, of course, are in the center of the dance floor. Steve’s head is tucked beneath Eric’s chin (as he did have a type for taller men). Their eyes fall shut as they sway slowly to the beat; nothing except their love matters to them at that very moment. 

Went, visibly recovered from his earlier bout of exertion, offers her his hand. “May I?”

She smiles gleefully at him. “You may.” She slips her hand into his and allows him to guide her back onto the floor. 

He twirls her around some and she feels like they’re in their youth— their prime. Their love is timeless and for a second they’re not grey and in need of breaks but the bright eyed twenty-somethings that went nonstop and kept stepping on each other’s feet whilst dancing at their own wedding. It doesn’t really matter how old they are. She loves him all the same; if not more than she did that day. 

Went’s chest rumbles with soft laughter beneath her head and she peers up at him, eyebrows furrowed together. 

“Hmm?” 

“ _That_.” He nods at the other side of the dance floor.

She glances in the direction he indicated to and sees Richie and Eddie doing some bastardized form of slow dancing together. They’re not holding each other close or melting into the touch of the other as most are. Their movements are clumsy and a bit too fast paced for the song being played. But they’re holding hands and giggling soft enough as to not disrupt the blissful tunes emitting from the speakers. Their expressions, while playful, are filled with something Maggie knows all too well.

She returns her eyes to her husband and raises her brows. 

“Idiots?” 

“The biggest.” She confirms with a nod. 

xXx

The reception continues with a continued mix of exciting music occasionally filtered with a handful of slow songs but starts to die down as the clocks edge toward midnight. Guests leave primarily by Uber for Steve nor Eric will not let anyone drive themselves if they touched even a single drop of alcohol and the ones that remain are no longer bustling on the dance floor but rather engaged in some fun conversations at their now cleared-off tables. 

Maggie is nearly on the verge of dozing herself, head resting upon her husband’s shoulder as her eyes keep inadvertently rolling upward into her skull as sleep attempts to claim her. She thinks they’ll probably leave before the hour is up once Richie and Eddie return from wherever they might be. She thinks they might be at the photo booths taking some rather goofy shots together. 

It had been an incredible night. She was positively thrilled to see Steve, someone she saw as a son for Maggie was prone to emotionally adopting _anyone_ that had her son’s best interest at heart (i.e., the Losers Club), unify his soul with someone that really understood him and loved him in a way that probably no one else ever could (and that included her son). She had an absolute blast dancing around with the love of her life and feeling like, even if it was brief, like they were young again. And of course, it was more than entertaining to witness Richie and Eddie be close in a way she didn’t often see from them at home. There was just something, Maggie thought, about weddings that elicited such a romantic response and openness from people. 

Maggie feels her own exhaustion continue to pull her as Went lets out a jaw cracking yawn. She is drawn out of her state of sleepiness by Eric’s gentle voice.

“You two are good to drive home, right?” He asks quietly. “Or did you drink anything? If so, Steve and I would more than happily buy your guys’ ride home.” 

He and Steve must be checking in on the remaining guests in order to ensure that they are in a suitable enough state to drive and to perhaps give a polite hint that they should start heading home so that they too can get home and prepare for their upcoming honeymoon— a two week getaway to Bora Bora (which was Richie’s wedding present to the newlyweds).

“We had a few mixed drinks earlier in the night.” Went tells him. “But Richie is gonna drive us home.” 

Eric knows Richie doesn’t drink and acknowledges this with a thumbs up. “Okay. I just wasn’t sure if you guys all drove separately.”

“We’re Californians now, Eric. We care rather deeply about the environment.” Maggie snickers, voice thick with her own grogginess. 

He chuckles at that, sitting down before them. “Did you guys have fun?”

“Oh yeah.” Went nods and Maggie mimics the movement with her own head. “We had a blast.”

“I’m glad to hear that. We’re really glad you guys, Richie, and his boyfriend— uh Eddie is his name I think— could make it.” 

Went snorts at that. Steve must not have taken the liberty of informing Eric all the rather humorous details of the ongoing predicament of Richie and Eddie’s wildly complex relationship. 

“Oh, Eddie is just Richie’s best friend and roommate.” Maggie corrects. 

“Although, everyone except those two _knows_ they should be together.”

A befuddled expression scrunches up Eric’s soft features and he chuckles a bit. “Do _friends_ normally sneak outside to make out in private?”

Maggie jolts at that. Went sits up ramrod straight. Their sleepiness is immediately forgotten. Eric blinks in surprise, taken aback by their startled reactions.

“Do repeat that, Eric.” Went insists. “We have _ancient_ ears and I’m not quite sure we caught that.”

Eric laughs sheepishly, rubbing at his chin. The new ring upon his wedding finger catching under the light above them. He seems uncertain if he should be disclosing the scene he accidentally stumbled upon. “Well, I went outside to snag an ornament off one of the trees at the altar for Steve as a memento kinda thing,” he snorts at that, “and well, Richie and Eddie were out there alone and they were _really_ going at it by the Christmas trees around the altar.” 

Huh. 

Now, _that_ was interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was moderately decent and can I just say I invented slow burn because I did. I really fucking did. Low-key sad that I know I won't hit the 400k mark because 4 is my favorite number but it's cash money. 
> 
> Again, I apologize for the short and probably iffy chapter but my mental health sucks. I'm just not doing too hot rn and I know most people aren't and your feelings are entirely valid. 2020 sucks and has drained all happiness away and left most us feeling like a 5'1" person in an overflowing 5'0" in the ground swimming pool after a torrential downpour. 
> 
> If ya in the same boat given 2020 and just the holiday season in general, I recommend lots of tiktok, youtube, Among us, and just taking the best naps humanly possible. Put yourself forward where you can. You deserve it.
> 
> Lemme know what ya holiday (if you celebrate) plans are so I can get excited for ya! I was hoping to be going on a trip for NYE and to get absolutely stoned with my best friends but covid is a ~mess~ so that will not be happening so catch me being sad over the holidays and attempting to make it a bit more merry with my dog!!!! 
> 
> ya'll lovely. 
> 
> richie and eddie are having a gingerbread house competition over zoom with their friends. richie "accidentally" broke eddie's masterpiece and eddie started eating richie's as payback. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback? Please be gentle. I am baby. 
> 
> This will continue into various ages and be intertwined with the movie plot as well!


End file.
